


The Assistant

by lastviolet



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Happy Ending, Love, Original Character(s), POV Original Female Character, Relationship(s), Secret Relationship, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Smut, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:54:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 110,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28218804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lastviolet/pseuds/lastviolet
Summary: Her sixth year at Hogwarts was supposed to be relatively peaceful but after an incident on the Hogwarts express, Violet Wilkes finds herself the newest target of the Weasley twins. This, combined with a dark family secret that always seems to be looming too close for comfort, and the Triwizard tournament, makes her first few months back more exciting and stressful than every year before, combined. The choices before her threaten to bring her out of the comfort zone she's meticulously built inside of Slytherin, and into something incredible, if she'll only take a leap of faith. The terrible thing about choices though, she soon finds, is that you're the only one that can make them for yourself.Harry Potter is owned by J.K Rowling and Warner Bros. Studios. Violet Wilkes and her storyline are of my own creation. The main plot follows a combination of the  Goblet of Fire, movies, and books.
Relationships: George Weasley & Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 21
Kudos: 17





	1. Ton-Tongue-Toffee

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I hope you enjoy "The Assistant." This is a slow burn romance but I promise that the juicy stuff will come eventually! I hope to publish a new chapter every week but I'm not sure how many chapters there will be, probably somewhere in the 50 range.  
> Pinterest - https://www.pinterest.com/lastxviolet/_saved/  
> Tumblr - https://www.tumblr.com/blog/lastxviolet

_The Dark Mark._

_Cloaked figures running, burning, torturing._

_The threat of a second war._

_Screaming._

A sharp train whistle brought Violet Wilkes back into her body on Platform 9 ¾, its sound tearing her mind away from the horrifying morning news in the Daily Prophet just last week. The moving pictures on the papers front page had barely left her thoughts, even now, as she was steps away from saying goodbye to her family for nearly a year, the dark mark burned behind her eyelids with every blink. 

She walked ahead of her parents and little sister, weaving through the crowd of fawning mothers and sniffling siblings, towards the very last car in the line, dreading the long journey ahead more and more with every step.

For the past five years, she had seriously considered not returning to Hogwarts, solely because of the egregious train ride from London, and this year was no different, except for the pit in her stomach from the thought of noise, people, and confined space was joined by the fear of her family’s hypothetical imminent doom at the hands of Death Eaters. Despite the fact that no one else shared her fears.

She’d told them all week that the events at the Quidditch World Cup weren’t a fluke. No one conjured the most fearsome symbol in their world nearly thirteen years after its disappearance, by accident. It meant something. 

A terrible something.

And now, she was leaving them. Defenseless.

Her father hadn’t picked up his wand in nearly a decade, and her mother had no magical abilities to speak of. Her sister, Olivia, would surely be a powerful witch in the coming years but for now, she remained a timid ten-year-old. They hardly stood a chance without her. That was if the events last week were as dire and fearsome as she believed them to be. 

Of all people, she thought her father would understand her worry but he insisted that it wasn’t going to be like ‘last time.’ Even then, she’d made him swear that he would brush up on his spells and hexes just in case you-know-who had returned and picked up where he’d left off, targeting blood traitors and their families. 

The train whistle cut through the commotion again and they sped up to make the 11:00 departure. She glanced down at her watch; 10:58. 

If they hurried, she’d make it. But if they didn’t, the train would mosey on without her. Not that she’d mind. 

She looked around at her fellow hustling peers pouring into the train and exhaled sharply. What if she just stopped? Dropped to her knees and refused to move. Missed the train and begged her father to let her go to a muggle school as her mother had. Her fingers gripped the iron handrail in the vestibule of the final car, and she hesitated, ready to throw herself back onto the platform but deep down, she knew it was already too late. There was no avoiding the journey ahead. 

Her sister launched into her arms, squeezing tight before her mother’s arms replaced them around her neck. She kissed her father’s cheek last, lingering on his kind, dark blue eyes, staring at their own mirrored pupils in her head. He pressed one more kiss onto her forehead before stepping back to wrap his arms around the other halves of her heart. 

A blood-traitor. 

How could anyone call him a blood-traitor? 

Easy, she thought. It was the same way her housemates called her a half-blood. With condescending smirks and dead eyes.

She turned to enter the car so they couldn’t see the tear falling down her cheek and rushed to wipe it away before she came back into view through the last window. 

Her sister called out a final time when the train began to slowly move away and a wave of dread constricted her lungs. The sound was too similar to the screams she heard in her nightmares nearly every night. Fog from her breath on the window obscured the final visible moments of her family’s smiling faces and wildly waving arms as the platform disappeared from view. 

11:00. As one torturous moment ended, another, 8-hour-long one, began. The ruckus of running feet, excited hello’s, and sporadic spell work was instantaneous and completely impossible to ignore. She closed her eyes and tried to tune it out. 

She couldn’t conceive why a wizarding school would trust their unsupervised adolescent students to not blow each other up when muggle schools barely trusted their docile coeds to use the bathroom alone. Other people’s happiness didn’t normally give her such a headache but the lack of professor supervision provided no perimeters on her peer’s ability to run amuck. 

She felt her stomach flip with the swaying movement. Bile burned her throat, as the seat underneath her moved back and forth, rocking in a nauseating pattern. The noise, in combination with the repetitive piercing whistle and lurching wheels thudding through London, was dizzying.

Distraction. She needed a distraction. 

Calloused leather brushed her hip, reminding her that she’d anticipated this very moment. She thanked her past self profusely and dug through the bag until the pebbly fabric of her favorite muggle book scratched her fingertips. 

The deep blue hardcover still precariously clung to its title even after years of wear and tear, reading and rereading. She caressed the carved gold words with a shaky, anxious finger. 

The Princess Bride  
By William Goldman

It was a pity that the Hogwarts library didn’t cater to muggle-born students, she thought. Even in Muggle Studies class, assigned readings were books about muggles, written by the magical beings that walked among them. Wizard writers were wonderful but their ability to write compelling fiction was limited when they can do the unthinkable with the mindless flick of a wand.

She flipped it open and paused to admire her mother’s swirly signature on the dedication page before turning to the first chapter. 

_“I've been saying it so long to you, you just wouldn't listen. Every time you said 'Farm Boy do this' you thought I was answering 'As you wish' but that's only because you were hearing wrong. 'I love you' was what it was, but you never heard, and you never heard."_

_"I hear you now, and I promise you this: I will never love anyone else. Only Westley. Until I die.”_

Eventually, the disorienting blur of houses, trees, and cars ceased— replaced by much more appealing, rolling hills and sprawling fields. The speed of the train was barely discernible as the scenery outside the window moved in slow motion, barely changing, monotonous and still, a comfort to her dizzy head. 

She glanced towards the glass doors that were protecting her from the chaos throughout the halls and determined that the motion sickness and general discomfort had been suppressed. She took a deep breath and weighed the options for the second half of the trip. Stay, and finish the beloved book that lay open in her lap, or leave, and trade all peace for conversation. 

Alone, but also lonely. 

She’d probably missed loads of drama on the first half of the ride, and Sadie would surely be furious with her for being absent. 

Sadie Baldock had plopped down next to her at the Slytherin table one random morning during her second week at Hogwarts. Happy to have some company, she’d let the energetic girl talk her ear off for the entire meal, not once interrupting or telling her to shut up, even though it would’ve been warranted. They’d been best friends ever since and she’d been an absolute treasure for the entirety of their past five years. 

Despite Sadies strong personality and pension for gossip, she understood and accepted that Violet had no desire to be attached at the hip to anyone and gladly gave her space. 

Alone and lonely, was much better than being suffocated, she thought. This had been her preference, even before she arrived at Hogwarts, and was sorted into Slytherin, her supposed ‘family’ away from home. 

She scoffed and shook her head. 

Family, yeah right. 

Other houses might consider themselves family. Hers, however, felt more like a cage. 

Families weren’t supposed to be judgmental, at least not to the degree that her peers were. Families didn’t shun disgraced peers for impure bloodlines or enforce generational loyalty without question. In recent years, the house had shed any sense of camaraderie left, even between those with pure-blood and ancient ties. 

Due to this, tensions ran high and tempers were like time-bombs. It was exhausting to bite her tongue enough to remain cordial with most of the somewhat sane peers in her house and fly under the radar of the rest. She clenched her jaw, remembering Draco Malfoy and crew taunting her half-blood status and muggle mother. 

Exhausting, but necessary, for self-preservation and peaceful existence. She occasionally betrayed herself with a viper-quick temper that was always simmering in her chest but most took it for stereotypical Slytherin nastiness, and not a haunting disdain for those who shared her green and silver uniform. This, a knack for potions and a morbidly dark wardrobe were perhaps the only evidence of a correct sorting. 

Oh well, she thought. It was a bit late in her career to be considering a house change, besides, the sorting hat was a sod old brute who insisted that he was never wrong. 

In actuality though, it wasn’t all terrible. At least she had Sadie and the few other perks that came with the snake emblem.

The dungeons provided cool darkness that deprived the senses of any reason for restlessness and anxiety. Although the green uniform occasionally invited disapproving glances, it complimented her dark blue eyes and strawberry blonde hair much better than the blue and white of Ravenclaw, or heaven forbid the bright red Gryffindor insignia. And, she was only a few feet away from the potions classroom, where she’d managed to instate herself as one of the only students their head of house, Professor Severus Snape, did not actively hate. The bond had been painstakingly cultivated over the years the only that way he would allow; speaking when spoken to, correct answers, and perfect potions.

She stared out the window, focusing on the rolling hills, trying to let go of the gnawing feeling in the back of her mind that couldn’t help but wonder if the hat had gotten it wrong. 

Introspection was one of her biggest flaws. Sadie was constantly telling her to get out of her head and she knew that she was right. But, analysis always felt necessary, even about moments and emotions long gone. Sorting through every feeling, decision, movement; double-checking every second to make sure they were all accounted for, was compulsory. 

Even now, six years later, she wondered whether she even truly belonged in Slytherin, and whether or not being sorted into the other houses would’ve been easier or even different at all. Would it have been better to be sorted into her father’s Hufflepuff house? 

Maybe, but unfortunately, when considering where to place her, the sorting hat had ignored her father and zeroed in on the countless other Wilkes before him, all in Slytherin, before deciding that she would be forced to pick up the lineage again. Not that any of them would ever know, or care.

She felt a shiver down her spine. 

It was for the best that they hadn’t any idea of her existence, let alone the continuation of their legacy. 

She squeezed her eyes closed and the beautiful scenery outside dissolved into the Dark Mark behind her lids and the memory of photos she’d secretly found amongst her father’s old school things. Photos of a boy, a few years older than her father, clad in green standing next to his younger brother in yellow and black. 

A legacy, broken. A legacy, reborn. 

She felt her heartbeat quicken and tried desperately to conjure the image of her sister, next year, with the sorting hat on her head, yelling any other house’s name. 

Screams from the next train car over tore her away from her thoughts. She jumped slightly and shook her head, glad for a distraction from the oncoming downward spiral. She’d forgotten where she was for a moment but another chorus of “no’s” and laughter bursting through the door at the front of the cabin, pulled her back to reality. 

Pushing the doors apart slightly, she poked her head into the hall and moved to step out but voices stopped her. Loud, obnoxious, exuberant voices yelled something about “research” to an amused audience. 

The Weasley twins. 

Maybe the imminent doom she’d been worrying about wouldn’t come at the hands of Death Eaters at all, but two idiotic and insufferable redheads instead. 

She searched for an escape, eyes moving frantically, but her only option seemed to be a jump from the back door and onto the tracks below. Why hadn’t she left to find Sadie when she’d had the chance? 

Rolling her eyes as far back into her head as they would go, she sunk back down onto the bench and held her breath, hoping to miraculously turn invisible before the twins could sour her mood further. 

“C’mon George, one last try,” a voice belonging to Fred Weasley yelled over the last wave of students laughing and telling the twins to get lost. 

She groaned, knowing that they were indeed coming for her. She couldn’t think of a single time during her years at Hogwarts when she’d enjoyed the terroristic Weasley antics, but this moment was particularly ill-timed. Their talents for pranking were legendary and despite being in the same year, she’d never been a target or victim. But, it seemed as though her time had come. 

She screwed her eyes shut, trying to find a single positive about the cursed situation. The nerves twisted her stomach into a knot while she listened to nearing footsteps. Maybe, if she played along and let them get it out of their system, they would leave quicker, and get back to ignoring her.

Another couple of torturous seconds crawled by before the twin who she thought might be George yanked open the cabin door. 

She forced herself to breathe and tilted her head to meet them with a perturbed expression glued to her face; brows furrowed, lips pursed, and arms crossed. Every Slytherin instinct whispered in her ear to hex them back to London but the exhaustion from her emotional goodbye a few hours ago overwhelmed any anger left, resigning her to accept this fate without much of a fight. 

“Well hello, Violet. Today is your lucky day.” 

She was right, the one coming in first was George Weasley. She recognized the two moles on the left side of his neck from Herbology last year when she’d fantasized about slashing his jugular when he wouldn’t shut up. 

He moved her feet from the bench opposite her, and she stared at him, noting that his slightly crooked nose also distinguished him from the brother coming in second. Once seated, they stared at her with intense brown eyes, and eager slack-jaw smiles —incredibly sharp features exaggerated by flowing radioactive red hair, waiting for an answer.

“Is that so?” she growled, conjuring a deadpan stare. 

The twins straightened their chests and leaned forward simultaneously. “Yes, indeed,” Fred said, the excitement in his face and voice completely unaffected by her cold response. “And we’ll tell you why. George?”

“For a limited time only, you have the incredible opportunity to join us on an intellectual exploration,” George explained. She shot him a disapproving glance before shifting back to Fred who was nodding fervently at his brother’s side. “Groundbreaking research,” he added, sensing her apprehension. 

“I’ve never exactly thought of you two as intellectual,” she sneered. 

“Been thinking about us though?” George teased. 

She cursed herself for the blush that formed instantly and shifted her gaze back to Fred who was still waiting anxiously to explain the situation. 

“All you need to do is eat this delicious toffee,” Fred said, producing a brown lump from his robe. 

He shoved it towards her and unsuccessfully tried to hide the mischievous glint in his eye with a sweet smile. 

She glared at him, remaining silent, unsure of what to say next. What were they trying to pull? And why did they think that she was going to fall for it this easily? Did they think she was stupid?

She narrowed her eyes and tried to ignore her bruised dignity. “You’re joking,” she drawled, earning fake looks of concern from both of the twins. “What makes you think I’m going to fall for that?”

Fred’s long red hair covered his face slightly as he shook his head. “See this is where everyone keeps misunderstanding us, George.” 

George leaned across the small space between them. “Indeed Fred —Violet darling, clearly our offer is much too transparent to be a prank,” he said, now a little too close for comfort. “This is product research for our business so please try and take it seriously.”

She scowled at the pet name and leaned away. Why was he being so familiar with her? 

Gryffindors. Always too friendly to be trusted. At least her fellow Slytherins never tried to hide their agenda, no matter how much their bluntness stung. 

It was difficult to gauge how to best get rid of them. Their puppy dog eyes didn’t seem to be affected by rudeness, if anything, it seemed to egg them on further. She decided to try another route instead, hoping to catch them off guard. 

“Fine. In the spirit of transparency, say that I do eat it,” she said. “What will happen to me?”

Their coy confidence turned to surprise. “It’s only ever been tested on a Muggle so we have no clue,” George confessed matter-o-factly. “Hence it being such a great research opportunity.”

“You’d be a pioneer,” Fred finished, a stupid confident grin returning to his face. “Maybe even a legend.”

Violet looked down at Fred’s outstretched arm and plucked the brown ball from his hand. She stared at it skeptically and brought it up to her nose. It smelled just like normal toffee, but no way it was that simple. 

The twins exchanged a nervous glance and she could tell that they were holding their breath.

They most likely doubted her ability to take a joke and were probably nervous about the outcome of their prank, if she did indeed fall for it. 

She couldn’t blame them, of course. Last year, Blaise Zabini, one of Malfoy’s toadies, joked about her mother being a muggle during the Halloween feast, and nearly the whole school had witnessed her merciless rebuttal. She stifled a smile, remembering the look on his face when she’d stuck her wand in his mouth and said “Langlock.” His friends had scrambled and scratched to open his mouth again and Madam Pomfrey had about reached her wits end trying to figure out how to separate his tongue from the roof of his mouth. She wondered if they’d been there for that, but the sudden hesitation in George’s smile told her they were well aware of her short fuse. 

Lucky for them though, she didn’t have enough energy to fly off the handle today. 

She slipped her wand out of her bag and touched the tip to the toffee, muttering a revealing charm. “Specialis Revelio.”

The twins lunged forward to snatch their sweet back, but she was quicker. 

“An engorgement charm?”

“That’s cheating,” Fred protested. 

“What is this?”

They stared at her with a mixture of defeat and annoyance.

“It’s a ton-tongue-toffee,” George said grimly. “The newest product from Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes.”

She remembered him talking about his plans for a joke shop constantly in Herbology, while his gaggle of admiring Gryffindors hung onto every word but she never thought he could be serious about such a stupid career endeavor.

She frowned. “That’s idiotic.” 

“That’s the whole point,” Fred snapped. “It would’ve been funny if you hadn’t taken the easy way out.” 

“What would have been funny?” she countered, relishing in their sudden mood shift from smug to perturbed. “Me casting a counter-charm as soon as I felt my tongue swelling? I thought you two were supposed to be good at pranks.”

She tried to hide her delight at the ability to get under their skin. Their presence was unwelcome but not as completely intolerable as she had expected, even as their cheerful nature and goofy grins faded, they were almost bearable.

Suddenly, she saw something dark shift over George’s gaze. “Well then eat it, if you’re so sure.”

Violet’s eyes widened, unprepared for the confident challenge. Irritation moved swiftly through her chest. She tried to hide her nerves and glanced down at the ball in her hand. It would be easier to tell them to leave, or even get up and walk away but she couldn’t let a Weasley best her. 

If living inside of her head was her first flaw, then pride was her second. 

Her eyes bore holes into George’s, and regardless of what happened next, his look of shock was prize enough as she popped the lump into her mouth. The toffee was a little warm and soft but not inedible, she wondered if their mother had made it. 

Her mouth was fuzzy before she even swallowed, and as she had suspected, her tongue began to swell profusely. She poked the tip of her wand to her tongue as it flopped out of her mouth, nearly reaching twice its size. 

“Reducio.” 

The twin’s mouths dropped open in shock before they exchanged a curious glance. Even though the counter-charm came out with a slight lisp, as quick as it had happened, her mouth closed around her normal-sized tongue, the caramel-like taste of toffee on her lips all that remained of the prank. 

She broke her staring contest with George and glanced back to Fred, but neither looked like they were going to say anything. 

Arrogance replaced her irritation and she just couldn’t hold back.

“Had you not thought of that?” She asked with a smug smile. “I hope none of your other products are so easily reversible. Who would want to buy something so temporary? Faulty merchandise is hardly a way to run a business.”

They both stared at her in displeasure, but George looked more enraged than anything, not that she cared about hurting his feelings. This was turning out to be quite fun, she thought.

“Well, you’ve been a lovely assistant,” Fred said, trying to quell the tension and clearly over the situation. “C’mon Georgie, finding someone less capable than Wilkes will be a snap.”

George didn’t budge. He just stared back at her, his brow furrowed, like he couldn’t remember her name anymore. The thoughtful expression was freaking her out. She waited for him to return to the annoying ginger twat who had entered her cabin without permission but his expression didn’t change.

His eyes searched hers for something but she couldn’t tell what. She chanted ‘fuck off’ in her head, hoping that he could see the sentiment reflected in her eyes. 

How odd, looking at them now, they weren’t identical at all. While Fred seemed to operate as their crazy motor, George was something else…steering wheel maybe? Regardless, she was glad their exchange was coming to an end. 

“What would you suggest then?” George inquired with a sneer, standing up to follow his brother out the door. “Since you’re so smart.”

As if she’d help them. 

George loomed over her, blocking her view of anything else. She stared up at him defiantly, not letting his size intimidate her. The question lingered in the thick air between them, ringing in her ears over and over. Surprisingly, she did indeed have an answer to his inquiry, not that she was going to say anything. They didn’t deserve her help, even if she could mask it as superiority. She waited for him to leave but he seemed just as content sitting in their tension as she was. 

He smirked and that threw her over the edge. 

Besting him in his expertise would be a satisfying final nail in the coffin and he’d asked for it. She didn’t mind him this way, begging her to intellectually best him. 

“Potions,” she blurted. 

She watched his eyes widen. “What?”

“Potions,” she repeated wearily. “If you had used Swelling Solution, it wouldn’t have been detectable by a revealing charm and no one would take the time to brew its antidote. Victims would be stuck with a fat tongue until the effects wore off, which, apparently, is funny.”

It had meant to sound smug but it came out too much like she was tutoring him in earnest. He looked just as surprised at her tone as she was and stood up a little straighter, before reaching for the door. She glanced down at her hands, aware of his eyes still on her, and cursed the sincerity in her voice, hoping he wouldn’t take it seriously or respond. 

Thankfully, the door clicked shut and his footsteps disappeared down the hall, without another word. She sighed in relief and stuffed the book back into her bag to finally go find Sadie. 

____

Violet shook the strange interaction with the Weasleys from her head and pushed through, packed train car, after packed train car before reaching the self-anointed ‘Slytherin Only’ door. Out of all the options on the train, her house had managed to claim the worst one. The tables and benches were much more uncomfortable than the stuffy cabins and the openness of the room made every ride a free-for-all. 

The window fogged from her breath for a moment but through the sea of green, black, and silver, she could just make out the short, dark-haired girl she’d been looking for.

She wove through the room, focusing on Sadie’s scowling face, at the back table. She followed the witch’s death glare to a gaggle of girls surrounding Draco Malfoy across the room, holding up some Quidditch pamphlet that was somehow making them squeal. She pushed through a group of large boys lurking around a few older sixth years and successfully made it the length of the train without anyone trying to speak with her, or leer something hurtful, which was prone to happen. 

“I was beginning to wonder if you even got on,” Sadie said.

“Please, hold your applause,” she responded, thankful to hear her friend’s voice after months apart. 

Sadie smirked knowingly. “Did you yak?”

Violet sat on the bench across from her. “Nope. Almost threw myself out of the window near Manchester though, when the Weasley twins raided my compartment.” 

She thought about recounting the entirety of the strange interaction but decided against it, as Sadie already seemed perturbed enough. 

“Merlin, those spazzy gits never take a day off. We haven’t even started the school year yet,” she murmured. “Please tell me you unleashed your wrath on them.” 

Before she could answer, a chorus of ooh’s and ahh’s erupted from the show going on at the front table. 

“Oi get a room or shut the hell up,” Sadie yelled, earning her more than a few dirty looks around the room and an especially sour sneer from Malfoy himself. 

“Shove off, Baldock,” Malfoy sneered. 

Normally, Violet would’ve laughed but she didn’t particularly feel like drawing attention to herself today so she turned to avoid his gaze.

“I swear, those girls should be over that albino twat by now,” she scowled, staring daggers into Malfoy’s back. 

“Not everyone has your refined taste Sades.”

Her friend fell silent, gazing towards the blond boy dreamily. “Vi, do you think I could kill him? Snap him like a twig or something?”

She laughed and turned slightly, ensuring that Malfoy’s ominous gaze was off of them. “Surely he deserves a more painful death than that.” 

She shifted in her seat to rest the side of her face against the window and smiled at Sadie’s hearty, murderous cackle. The cool glass quelled any queasiness left as she watched the sunset over Scotland, signaling that the ride was almost over. Despite her surroundings and previous disposition, it was quite beautiful.

As she has suspected, Sadie recounted the first couple hours of the ride with impeccable detail. Pansy Parkinson had gotten an unfortunate haircut, Theodore Knott had gotten hotter over the summer, and Malfoy wouldn’t shut up about the Quidditch World Cup. 

Her mind snapped to the dark mark once again. Of course, the Malfoy’s had been in attendance.

“He was there?” she whispered across the table. 

“Of course he was. As if his family would miss an opportunity to show off to the whole world,” Sadie said rolling her eyes.

“What did he say about it?”

“Just the usual. Father this, ministers box that. Gloating twat.”

“Did he say anything about the ending…about the Dark Mark?”

Violet’s ears rang. 

A forgotten picture she’d stumbled upon in her father’s abandoned school photo album flashed in her mind once more. Lucious Malfoy swinging his arm around her uncle, clad in Slytherin robes, a year before the war started. Their smiling faces were unburdened from what was yet to come. 

The same Lucious Malfoy who was charged with being a Death Eater, but ultimately exonerated. 

Sadie shrugged. “Just that he saw Potter running scared like a little girl,” she said plainly before launching into the details of her summer. It was the same every year; she fought with her sisters and mother all summer long, and then cried like a baby while saying goodbye to them on the platform.

Violet attempted to tune her out and glanced at the cruel blonde. 

This was the closest she’d been to him in nearly two years. Ever since Lucious had recognized her father on the platform, she’d taken every precaution to dodge him in every meal, class, or school event, in order to avoid the things that he knew about her. 

The image of both Malfoy’s smiles twitching smugly as Lucious recanted the Wilkes family history to his monstrous son on the train platform flashed in her mind. Her father had ushered the family away, uncaring of the secrets that would follow her to school and unwilling to speak about it. 

She knew he knew, and even though he had every opportunity to tell the whole school, he didn’t. Or rather, hadn’t yet, like she knew he would someday. She could tell that he was waiting for the most opportune time by the way he said half-blood, and blood traitor instead of her name and the way his eyes were always just a little too confident when regarding her. The anticipation and fear seemed to be torture enough, for him. Surely though, it was only a matter of time.

His presence suddenly became too much. The thought of sharing a room with someone so amused by the ridicule of anyone who wasn’t of pure-blood made the taste of bile claw up her throat. 

“Sades,” she interrupted her friend who was still animatedly speaking. “Wanna head back to mine and change?” 

The dark-haired witch nodded and chattered on.

She led them both back down the train, breathing freely again among less threatening red, blue, and yellow students. She was relieved to have Sadie rambling at her side, yelling at first years in their way, and shoving leering seventh-year boys back into the cabins.

They finally reached the last car, and suddenly, she felt her breath hitch in her throat. A tall redhead was leaning against the wall outside of her cabin. He was staring down at his shoes and muttering something. She couldn’t tell which one it was from this angle but had a hunch.

Two times in one day? She must be cursed. 

Her stomach tangled itself once more with nerves. Maybe he’d come back to enact some cruel revenge on her, for thwarting his prank. She gripped Sadies hand a little tighter, thankful to have her as a backup if things went south. The sound of her footsteps made him finally lookup. She wasn’t expecting the expressionless look on his face, and suddenly she doubted that he wanted to harm her at all. 

Sadie saw him not a second later and pushed past her, letting go of her hand and yelling, “Bothering her once wasn’t enough, you back for more Weasley?”

George’s calm face suddenly contorted into panic as Sadie shoved past him and into the cabin. Violet didn’t move, and stared at him from a few paces away, unsure of what he was doing if not pranking her. 

She hadn’t noticed his height earlier when they were sitting, but now that she stood in front of him, it was a shock to be eye level with his chest. Concealing her nervousness to the best of her ability, she met his eyes. 

“What?” She said deadpan, hoping to convey his unwelcomeness as much as Sadie had. 

He furrowed his brow and looked down at the ground for a moment, failing to hide a flustered blush.

“Sorry…erm — I thought I forgot something —talk to you later,” he mumbled through a forced smile. The sudden change in demeanor was surprising. His attempt at confidence was oddly manufactured and she saw, for the first time, a glimmer of shyness. 

Git. He probably needed his brother for backup.

Before she could say anything, he brushed past her and sped down the hall and out the door. 

“What the bloody hell was that,” Sadie said, scrunching her nose in annoyance. “Freaks, the lot of them.” 

Violet’s stomach detangled itself and she turned to watch the floppy long hair retreat from view. She nodded in agreement but kept her mouth closed.


	2. Sanctuary

Cool air stung her face as she followed Sadie off the train. They’d left London completely under the thumb of summer so the autumnal chill was entirely welcome. She sucked in the familiar earthy, forest air, relishing in the arrival at their destination, and shook the image of her family having dinner tonight without her while pushing through the crowd of students chatting loudly. The small Hogsmeade platform was hardly big enough to house them all so she quickened her pace, desperate to emerge from the pack before the crowd was shoulder to shoulder. 

As she walked, she eyed the students around her hopefully. There was still one dear friend that she owned a greeting to but she hadn’t seen her on the train. She searched the crowd making its way to the enchanted carriages at the beginning of the forest and spotted sporadic curls walking quickly behind a group of Gryffindors, a few feet in front of her.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen Hermione Granger outside of their evenings in the library. Her almost two-year-long friendship with the witch wasn’t necessarily a secret but it was certainly unexpected and not very well known.

It had been annoying at first, sharing her late-night library refuge with the young bushy-haired witch, until one night they talked so long that Madam Pince had found them asleep at the desks around sunrise. They’d crossed paths almost every night in the library since, spewing factoids, and quizzing each other but also sitting in comfortable silence. She would never admit it to her fellow Slytherin’s but studying with Hermione always made her miss her younger sister a little less. 

“Alright, Granger?” She called loudly enough to cut through the bleating crowd, accidentally making her friend jump a little. Harry Potter and Ron Weasley’s necks snapped back towards her, ready to defend their friend, but relaxed and kept walking at the sight of her. 

She scowled. If she had to see any more red hair today, she would vomit. She didn’t mind Harry or Ron too much, not that she’d ever spoken more than a few sentences with them. But, by the way, they spoke to Hermione when they came to occasionally tear her away from the library, they didn’t appreciate the brilliant witch nearly enough, which rubbed her the wrong way.

Hermione abandoned her red and gold crowd briefly to awkwardly hug her shoulders. “Violet!”

She had grown a bit taller over the summer and Violet no longer had to look down on her, now they stood face to face. Her tawny eyes were bright against her freckled skin. A summer of unwinding had done her some good.

“How was your summer,” Hermione continued, smiling broadly. 

“Excellent, and you,” she asked into Hermione’s signature curls, as the witch held her tight.

“Quite busy really, I have loads to tell you,” she exclaimed. “I’ll find you in the library, I’ve made some astounding discoveries in Arithmancy that I think you’ll find interesting.” 

Hermione let go of her shoulder as Harry and Ron pulled her onto the enchanted carriage, landing next to Neville Longbottom, a particularly tragic Gryffindor. 

“I can’t wait to hear about advanced potions this year,” she half shouted from her seat, waving as they rolled away towards the castle. 

That’s right, it was her sixth year so she finally got to be in the N.E.W.T level potions class, the most advanced potions course that Hogwarts offered. How had she forgotten? She silently thanked Hermione for the much needed happy thought. 

“You’ll be sick of hearing about it before Christmas!”

She smiled. Leave it to the Gryffindor to make her look on the bright side of things. 

Sadie pulled her up to their carriage and nuzzled into her as they glided through the trees, cold air whipping any exposed skin. 

If it weren’t so cold, it would’ve been a nice walk. The Hogsmeade train station was close to the spot she occasionally wandered to in her free time. There were a few feet, closer to the lake where the various protection spells and other charms were weakest and her cassette tape player worked. She stared at it longingly as they passed by. It, and a few books, would be the closest she’d be to the muggle world for another year. 

The Great Hall was already hustling and bustling with students scurrying to say hello to friends from other houses before the feast commenced, by the time they got there. The ceiling glowed ominous blue and black, mirroring the storm that was brewing outside. Below it, thousands of candles hovered, glittering the ornate gold accents and casting bright reflections around the room. 

One more important hello left, she thought, as Sadie dragged them to their table. 

She passed the Bloody Baron, shooting their house ghost a nod, and craned her neck to inspect the head table at the front of the room before sitting down. 

Professor Snape was already glowering at the Slytherin table, inspecting them for appropriate behavior no doubt, so all she needed to do was raise her arm in a small wave to get his attention. It took only a second for his eyes to find her. She greeted him with a curt smile, to which he responded with a polite nod. His somber eyes lit up for just a moment at their interaction but it ultimately made no dent in his stoic expression, not that she expected much more than that. He was incredibly guarded, strict, and stoic but she respected him immensely.

“Did you see him?”

Sadie pulled her down to their seats. 

She furrowed her brow in confusion. “See who?”

Sadie huffed slightly, aware that she hadn’t been listening to her since they walked into the room. 

“Graham Montague!”

She’d heard that name too many times come from Sadies mouth to be curious about what was on about. Their tumultuous fling for the past few years had been exhausting to hear about.

“Oh yes, sorry I see him, but I wish I couldn’t,” she rested her head in her hands and tried to look interested.

“He wrote me over the summer you know,” Sadie continued, ignoring the dig. “I told him that he owed me five galleons for making me read his stupid ramblings.” 

The sound of thunder made the room jump as the clouds on the ceiling broke, signaling a night of rain. Impatience had never been a flaw of hers but silly, elongated ordeals like the first feast of the year brought out the feeling in full force. It was a huge fiasco that took forever. She tried to calm her anxiously bouncing knee but it was torture to be away from the library when it was raining. No one would be there to witness the water droplets ricocheting off the stained glass that contorted the sprawling green grounds outside, transforming the world into a Monet painting. 

The front doors opened with a bang and she turned to watch the soaking wet first years scurry down the center aisle. Enchanted music swelled to greet them, much to the surprise of the muggle-born students. They looked like they’d stumbled into a dream as they registered the amount of magic swirling around them.

Her first year, she’d pinched herself the entire boat ride across the lake, waiting for the majestic castle to disappear and be replaced by her bedroom ceiling. Her father’s descriptions of the castle and campus hadn’t done it justice and she still found new things to marvel at from time to time. She wished there was a way to sneak a camera in next year so that she could capture her sisters reaction.

The festivities crawled at a snail’s pace. She politely clapped along for every sorting, ignoring the pang of nerves in her gut when a few of the newly sorted Slytherins scampered over to greet Malfoy with a handshake, clearly aware of the pure-blood supremacy they were joining, and it’s leader. 

The others nervously stared at their plates, occasionally looking up to search for a friendly face, which she and Sadie were always happy to provide. It was tough, especially for those who were aware of Slytherin’s reputation but had expected to be sorted into a different house. Tougher though, for those who had to learn the hard way. She pitied them, as she’d pitied herself. Her father didn’t talk about the wizarding world much so she was left to piece together the dos and don’ts through old photos and whispers between her parents. It was a learning curve, especially coming from a muggle school but it took almost no time to realize that a simple green tie could be interpreted in terrible ways. 

She glared at the sorting hat as a professor whisked it away. 

The shrill noise of echoing metal against glass signaled the room to be quiet. Professor Dumbledore rose from his seat, effectively hushing the students. He extended his arms, the silver of his robes shimmered in the candlelight, as his soft eyes took in the room. 

“I have only two words to say to you,” he said, pausing pervasively. “Tuck in.”

Dinner flooded onto the tables, appearing out of thin air. She craned her neck to watch the first years again, the shock on their faces was hilarious and would probably take a few more meals to disappear. The rest of the room was completely distracted by the lavish meal. 

Finally. 

“That’s my cue,” she whispered low enough for only Sadie to hear, turning to swing a leg over the bench. 

“I don’t think you can escape so easily.”

She shot her friend a puzzled look before following her gaze towards the closed main doors, being guarded diligently by the caretaker, Filch. 

“Bloody hell,” she huffed, glancing around the buzzing room for an explanation. Sadie spotted the Bloody Baron again, making his way down the table, and beckoned him to join them. 

“Tell me, Baron,” she mewed, smiling sweetly. “Why does Filch look like he’d tackle anyone who tried to leave?”

Even in his wispy white form, the Baron’s eyes twinkled at the opportunity for gossip. You wouldn’t expect it from his name but he had two soft spots; Slytherins and the chance to spread rumors. 

“You didn’t hear it from me Miss Baldock but the Headmaster wants everyone here for a special announcement at the end of dinner,” he answered in nothing more than a whisper. “However, I would be willing to assist you, should you need to make a quick escape.” He bared his teeth and shot a devilish glare at the caretaker. 

So, she was stuck. 

“Thank you Baron but that’s alright, I’d hate to miss anything important,” Violet insisted, resettling herself back on the bench. 

“Suit yourself, Miss Wilkes, I might just go and do it anyway. Excuse me,” the ghost floated back through the hall, giving them a mischievous wink. 

She glanced back up to the head table. Other than a few more empty seats than normal, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Maybe he had some new professors to introduce? Or perhaps some new school rules to brief them on? Either way, the thought of being trapped was making her restless. 

She pursed her lips in thought and begrudgingly returned to the one-sided conversation Sadie was having with her. 

“As I was saying, if we don’t have Care of Magical Creatures together I will have a fit.” 

She held her fork and picked at the food in front of her; trying and failing to enjoy herself. 

“Oh Sadie, please tell me you’re not still on about your obsession with Hagrid,” she regarded her friend with a knowing glance. 

“I am not ashamed of my lust for a big, daft man,” Sadie said, pointing her chin towards the rest of the Slytherin table. “Lord knows none of these twigs could do the job — daft yes —but twigs none the less.” 

She laughed, easing the nerves in her torso. Sadie’s pessimistic view of their house wasn’t entirely wrong, the only exceptions were Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, two particularly porky fourth years who followed Malfoy around like puppies. Definitely not the big and dumb that Sadie was looking for. 

She’d never really looked at anyone from her house as a romantic possibility. Very few gave her the time of day and the ones that did usually regretted it. Her short fuse and hot temper didn’t mesh well with the haughty nature and overconfidence of most Slytherin boys. 

She participated in bits of conversation here and there during dinner but was at her wit’s end by the time dessert finished. The air shifted from excitement to agitation as the rest of the room finally noticed their inability to leave. Dumbledore must have sensed the unrest because not a moment later, he was situated at his podium in front of the head table.

“Now that we are all settled in a sorted, I’d like to make an announcement,” his voice echoed through the hall and drowned out the inquisitive chatter. “This castle will not only be your home this year but home to some very special guests as well. See, Hogwarts has been chosen to host a legendary event, the Triwizard Tournament.” 

The conversation was instantaneous and ricocheted off of every surface. Students, mostly from wizarding families, picked their jaws up off the floor and tried to explain the exhilarating news to their less-informed peers, like herself.

The noise was enough to make her miss the train.

Over the twittering, Fred Weasley yelled, “You’re JOKING,” from the Gryffindor table and the room burst into a fit of laughter. Even Dumbledore struggled to stifle his giggle of delight. 

“No, Mr. Weasley, I am not joking. Now for those of you who don’t know, the Triwizard Tournament brings together three schools for a magical contest.”

Their headmaster paused dramatically, and then continued, seemingly satisfied with the awe-struck look on nearly everyone’s faces. 

“From each school, a single student is selected, and let me be clear, if chosen, you stand alone. Trust me when I say, these contests are not for the faint-hearted.” His voice turned eerily serious and a shudder rattled down her back. 

So not a fun, light-hearted tournament then, she thought. It had been a shock to learn that most things in the wizarding world came with a good amount of danger, even some of the most common forms of travel were riddled with risk. She was an idiot to think that a school event would be any different. Just look at Quidditch. 

“More of that later,” he said, snapping out of the somber trance. “Now please join me in welcoming the lovely ladies from the Bauxbatons Academy of Magic and their Head Mistress, Madame Maxine.”

The doors finally opened and a group of girls clad in light blue silk strutted through, nearly appearing out of midair. She rose out of her seat slightly to watch them flit down the aisle between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, releasing blue butterflies with every step. Male voices erupted into cheers. Not surprisingly, the lewdest and loudest comments came from the Slytherin table. 

Disgusting pricks had no respect. Not even for themselves. 

“Blimey, I’d crack skulls if I were that big,” Sadie gasped. 

The giant Headmistress waltzed in behind her students, lead by Dumbledore. 

“What a woman,” she echoed, trying to tune out the embarrassing howls from her male peers as the French witches finished their show. She’d heard of other wizarding schools around the world but never expected to see their students in person.

She clapped along and admired the flattering Bauxbaton’s school uniform. Who on earth had designed the grey and black Hogwarts uniform when other schools got that?

Maybe an all-girls school wouldn’t have been such a bad idea.

“And now, our friends from the north,” Dumbledore bellowed from the podium once more. “Please greet the proud sons of Durmstrang and their headmaster, Igor Karkaroff.”

With a bang, a group of large, tall, men strode into the hall sporting dark turtlenecks and fur coats. This time it was Sadie shouting lewd comments over the crowd. 

“Bloody hell I think I’m going to slide off my seat,” Sadie said breathlessly, pretending to grip her arm for support. “Guess I won’t have to settle for Hagrid this year!” 

She couldn’t help but smile and laugh at the unconventional, scandalous humor of her friend. 

The Durmstrang boy’s faces were stoic and brooding, clearly, the cold northern winters were less kind to soft adolescent features. She wondered how they could be the same age as anyone at Hogwarts. 

Sparks poured from the ends of their walking sticks, each strike leaving scorch marks on the stone floor. Gasps echoed through the hall as their quick pace eventually turned into a run, with some bounding forward to show off incredible acrobatics before joining the Bauxbaton girls at the front of the hall. Cheers turned into low murmurs as a man, who she guessed was their headmaster, walked into the room with a very stoic and large boy at his side. 

“Fuck me,” Sadie muttered. “That’s Victor Krum. I can’t believe my eyes. He’s even better looking in person.”

Violet tore her eyes from the pair strutting down the main aisle. “In person? What do you mean?”

“Quidditch of course,” she snapped. “He almost won Bulgaria the Quidditch World Cup just last week. It’s a wonder how he even has time for school.”

Figured. Her father didn’t even follow muggle sports, let alone wizarding ones. She’d successfully avoided the Quidditch pitch for a majority of games and could barely name a single ball.

The three headmasters met at Dumbledores podium, but the room was still abuzz, eyeing the celebrity excitedly. 

This was her chance. 

“Fill me in later,” she said, swinging her legs over the bench, once more, to hop up from the table. She crouched and ran, hoping to go unnoticed. 

“You’re a real bore you know that,” was all she heard before a rogue lighting bolt from the enchanted ceiling above helped her slip out the door without interruption. 

Filch didn’t notice her disappearance and she heard the doors slam closed when she was a few feet away. The noise was canceled immediately. The silence was a relief after nearly an entire day of chaos. 

She marched towards the library, trying to stick to the shadows as much as possible, as she didn’t normally go out of her way to break the rules like this. The halls were empty except for a few raging fireplaces, lighting her way and the occasional preoccupied ghost.

The isolation was heavenly. 

She pressed a hand to the library door and pushed. Locked. Of course. Madam Pince was still at the feast, she thought, pressing her wand to the door.

Alohomora

The unlocked doors opened with a loud groan signaling that no one had been there all summer. The long room with mazes of books, desks, couches, and chairs was stale and less inviting in its dark state, than it normally was, fully lit and busy. 

Incendio 

She smiled. The familiar flickering orange glow illuminated the room and extinguished the final bit of nerves left from the train ride and annoyingly long feast. 

One,  
Two,  
Three…

She counted the bookcases diligently. It took 40 to get to the hidden alcove at the end of the hall but even if she lost count, she’d know her plush, velvet chair anywhere.

No one except for Hermione ever wandered that deep into the library so the long walk was well worth the refuge and privacy that it allowed.

The sound of rain echoed through the shelves and high ceilings, creating a loud repetitive sound, only interrupted by her thudding footsteps on the rug. She dodged a few self-sorting books, enchanted to move on their own, but other than that, there was no movement. 

Thirty-eight,  
Thirty-nine,  
Forty. 

Relief. 

The large wingback velvet chair in the corner welcomed her back with a familiar creak and groan as she nestled into her favorite spot. Nothing about the sanctuary had changed. Her chair, the oversized couch, and Hermione’s long wooden desk with a few matching chairs sat exactly where they had been when she’d left in June. Satisfied with the familiar surroundings, she turned her attention to the large window. The colors outside were much less vibrant as darkness cascaded over the campus but at least she could still make out the last of a purple and pink sunset reflecting off of the lake. 

Accio

A copy of Advanced Potions came barreling out of a bookcase too far away for her to see and landed in her outstretched hand. The familiar purple cover reminded her of all the ways that the castle felt like home.

The first time Snape had given her a copy of this textbook was during her fourth year. She’d worked through it late into the night for almost the entire term, only being befuddled by a few of the more time-consuming recipes. The look on Snape’s face as she’d presented him with a box of vials containing the completed potions just before Christmas break, was the closest she’d ever seen him smile. 

The pages were crisp as she flipped idly through the instructions, much different than her worn copy, and decided on the chapter about love potions. 

After a few hours of leisurely reading, she battled the heaviness of her eyelids in vain. She nodded awake, surrendering to her need for sleep, and muttered a spell to return the book to its place. The library was still entirely undisturbed as she made her way to the door sleepily.

The sound of heels clicking over the whirling wind and rain against the windows signaled Madam Pince’s return at the entrance of the library.

“I just cannot keep you away,” the librarian said, letting her pass. “Is Granger back there as well or can I lock up for the night?”  
  
Violet grinned. “Nope, just me, and I’ll be out of your hair until tomorrow.”

The generally stern woman shot her a wink and closed the door behind her. Madam Pince had probably seen enough of her to last an entire lifetime but she always made it seem like she was pleased to see her every time. Violet wondered if it was genuine.

Her exhaustion escaped her as she stepped out into the hallway, finding it in a state of disarray with her peers abuzz, running from one group to another, all gossiping about the Triwizard tournament. 

Darting back down the main hall, she dodged running Prefects, and giggling underclassmen, sticking to the wall to avoid any familiar faces. Even on a normal day, it was quite easy to disappear in the vast castle and busy hallways. Steering clear of wandering eyes only took a step into a shadow here, or a quiet shuffle behind a babbling group, there. Which is just what she did as she made her way through the corridor. Only a few more paces of being invisible and she’d be back in the dungeon. 

The energy in the hall practically rattled the stone walls. She couldn’t fight the feeling that she’d missed something else important. She wondered if she was correct, and if leaving early had been worth it. The answer came as soon as the thought passed her mind, as a familiar voice boomed through the hall. 

“They can’t do that!” George Weasley yelled. “We’re seventeen in April, why can’t we have a shot?”

Her heart race quickened as the redhead and nearly half of Gryffindor house came into view only a few feet away.

“They’re not stopping me from entering,” Fred waved his arms wildly next to his brother. “The champions’ll get to do all sorts of stuff you’d never be allowed to do normally. And a thousand Galleons prize money!”

Of course, they wanted to enter. There was no doubt in her mind that a Gryffindor would be chosen as the school’s champion. They had a tendency for danger, and for proving bravery. She stayed in the shadows but watched the pack’s trajectory closely, fearing that it might intersect with hers.

Hermione trailed behind the group, ushering them towards the moving staircase, and pestering them about being the last ones to make it to the common room. The young witch always looked at her whits end around her friends. How she had the energy to herd cats, was a mystery.

Violet accidentally caught her eye and picked up her pace, hoping to escape the group of extroverts with a smile and a nod. 

“Violet,” Hermione called as they crossed paths. “Can you believe the news about the tournament? Are you thinking about entering? You’re seventeen aren’t you?”

It would have been easy to lose them in the crowd but she couldn’t be rude to her friend. Even if she was accompanied by a pack of lions. Begrudgingly, she peeled herself out of the shadows and met them in the middle of the hall.

“Not until October,” she admitted to the group, all of which had their eyes on her. They were significantly less intimidating than her own house, but annoying all the same. The Weasley twins appeared to her left but she refused to meet their eyes. 

How was it possible to avoid their hi-jinx for nearly five years, and now, she’d seen them three times on their very first day back, twice before they’d even made it to the castle. Well, she thought, bad things always come in threes so this would surely be the last time having to speak with them.

“The tournament doesn’t start until after Halloween so you’ll be just in time,” Hermione said in an awkward tone, clearly sensing her apprehension. The encounter was uncomfortable but she appreciated the interesting revelation about an age limit. It certainly explained the prominent maturity of the students from the other schools. 

The twins pushed between her and Hermione before she could answer. 

Her heart rate spiked slightly. The devilish look in their eyes from when they’d entered her train car had returned. Were they going to confront her about the incident? Make her do something worse and in front of everyone? 

“An older woman then,” George sneered, still looking rather burnt about their previous encounter.

“Whaddya say, Wilkes? Do us a favor and put our names in the Goblet?” Fred echoed.

He loomed over her, his eyebrows arched in question and mouth stretched from ear to ear. She doubted he’d ever held his tongue in a conversation this long, and appreciated the show of restraint. 

Regardless, she rolled her eyes. “And watch you get yourself killed?” She took a step around the boisterous twin and squeezed Hermione’s hand in a silent goodbye. “I’d be happy to.”

The Gryffindors laughed at Fred’s protests but she ignored them, pushing through the group, regretting leaving the announcement too early. 

She practically flew down the dungeon stairs, happy to have escaped from the interaction with minimal worlds. Freezing air and the smell of stone and musk welcomed her underground. It was good to be back. 

The Slytherin common room door came into view and her excitement fizzled. A long summer away had made the putrid password, slip from her mind. 

This was, perhaps, when she envied other houses the most. They all changed their common room passwords with the seasons, or just for fun; ad-libbing silly meaningless phrases to make homesick first years laugh as they entered their home away from home. 

Not theirs though. 

It stayed the same, year after year. She kept it hidden in her subconscious, only acknowledging it for the split second it took to open the common room door. Even then, she tried to regard it as meaningless, simply an old-fashioned tradition that refused to die, but deep down she knew what it was.

Submission. 

A forced admission of blood superiority so that everyone knew, regardless of house, who was meant to submit to who. The sour taste lessened the more times she said it throughout the years but the first time back was always the worst. 

Her lips curled and teeth bared in order to force her tongue to spit it out. 

Pureblood

The stone slab slid away, revealing the elegant stone, leather, and green velvet common room within. She shook off the cloud of disgust and wove through a sea of familiar faces chatting and hanging off of couches and chairs. A group of seventh-year boys boasted loudly to the room about how they would bring Slytherin glory by winning the tournament. 

She sucked her lips to her teeth and swallowed a smile. These purebred, pampered, prats wouldn’t last a day in the muggle world, let alone with actual beasts, she thought. 

Sadie practically pounced on her as soon as she pushed open the door marked Wilkes & Baldock. Despite her roommate’s animated pestering, their new two-person suite, a perk for upperclassmen, was quite peaceful. Emerald sheets, curtains, and pillows, accented by dark wood furniture and adorned with silver knick-knacks, memorabilia from alumni past, made the room quite cozy. 

She looked around the room once more before submitting to Sadie’s chatter. 

“Alright, what did I miss?”

“Could you have taken any longer? I’ve been back for ages,” she scolded, pacing back and forth while trying to hold a straight face. “Sometimes I wonder what you would do if I wasn’t always waiting around to fill you in on stuff.”

She smiled at Sadies attempt to be withholding, especially with such clearly juicy information. Keeping secrets was not her specialty, not that Violet minded. Her lack of scandalous behavior ensured that she only ever got to reap the rewards of her friend’s knack for gossip and weakness for babbling. 

“But you are,” she reminded her. 

Sadies half-hearted scowl cracked. “Good point Vi,” she said with a bemused grin. “Okay, where do I even begin to begin?”

Violet made herself comfortable in a pile of throws and cushions on the floor and listened attentively in order to correctly adorn Sadies dramatic retelling with appropriate gasps of shock, and bursts of laughter. 

It wasn’t that Violet didn’t like to talk, because she did, but Sadies ramblings were somewhat comforting to her. It relieved her of the pressure to be entertaining, or the center of attention. She liked how relaxed she could be, as her friend had no expectations for her to fill the silence. 

She’d missed the arrival of the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, who had quelled the stray lighting that had covered her escape. Sadie hadn’t caught his name but he was apparently very strange looking, not an unusual trait for the rather cursed position in recent years.

Sadie’s face lit up as she recounted the looks of shock from everyone in the room when the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation from the Ministry of Magic had stepped forward to warn them about the real dangers of the tournament, and deliver the bad news of the age limit. 

Real dangers, she thought. What had they been dealing with beforehand?

Their school definitely seemed more pampered than the Durmstrang’s. Surely no one at Hogwarts stood a chance against these men somehow passing for teenagers, who looked like they’d seen worse things on their walk to class than they had in Defense Against the Dark Arts. She didn’t even want to fathom the skill hidden behind the pleasant French faces from Beauxbatons.

She couldn’t think of a single person at Hogwarts who might fare favorably against the dangerous tasks that had been alluded to. She wouldn’t stand a chance unless she could bring a potions kit and be allotted weeks on end to brew. Maybe Hermione, but she was much too busy. If the twins did indeed find a way to enter, they wouldn’t stand a chance at surviving, unless the monsters they faced liked pranks and bad jokes. 

“Obviously I am going to enter,” Sadie said. “I mean I’ve basically fought half the school already. And I’ll take any chance I can get for those Drum — whatever, boys to fawn over me.”

Strangely enough, it wasn’t Sadie’s worst idea.

“I’ll happily and safely cheer you on from the stands,” she assured her friend. “And help you cheat of course.”

Sadie squealed in delight and continued her lecture, only stopping when she noticed how difficult it was for Violet to keep her eyes open. 

They changed for bed, and Violet whispered an incantation to turn off the lights, ignoring Sadies not so silent departure from the room shortly after. Probably sneaking off somewhere to argue and then subsequently make out with Graham Montague for the millionth time. 

Sleep came for her quickly, and she gladly joined it, despite the ominous impending images of Death Eaters and Dark Marks.


	3. Know-it-all

They’d arrived on a Thursday night so Violet spent the long weekend finalizing her class schedule, helping the occasional lost first year, and being restless for Monday morning. 

She’d met with Snape on Saturday to go over her O.W.L scores from last year’s test and create her schedule. Their meeting was a pleasant one even though she became quite flustered when he’d asked for her after graduation plans. Truthfully, she wouldn’t mind taking over for Snape one day but didn’t feel confident in telling him. She also felt a longing to become a potioneer and perhaps create her own recipes at an apothecary someday. None of which she shared because there was nothing worse than being less than certain in Snape’s presence. 

He took her flimsy answer without protest and congratulated her on receiving almost all Outstanding scores, expressing as much happiness as his stoic disposition would allow about having her in advanced potions this year. 

“You’ll be requiring the use of my classroom for after hour practice, I presume,” her mentor said with a meaningful look. 

He was a master at Occlumens but it always seemed as though he could read minds without it. 

“That would be very much appreciated Professor,” she confessed. “I wasn’t able to practice much over the summer. Muggles don’t usually have valerian root or infusion of wormwood lying around.”

The side of his mouth twitched. “How do they survive? Draught of the Living Dead is most ambitious,” he replied, referring to her aforementioned ingredients. 

It was, but so was she. She was hoping to be able to create the entire Advanced Potions textbook from memory by the end of the year. Class stopped challenging her during her fourth year so after-hours practice was her only opportunity to flex her knowledge in any way. She’d tried hard for the past five years to become an expert simply because potions fascinated her. There was no rhyme or reason other than being captivated by the things that harmless ingredients could do when stirred together correctly.

They’d only decided on six classes this year, after all, she’d scored out of many courses being offered and didn’t want to waste her time. She glanced down at the scribbled schedule Snape had made for her. Potions on Monday’s and Wednesdays, followed by Ancient Runes and Defense Against the Dark Arts, respectively. Herbology on Tuesdays, Charms, and Care of Magical Creatures on Thursdays. Friday was completely free, as were almost all of her afternoons. Years of packing her schedule and studying deep into the night seemed to have paid off. It was a relief to finally have some free time, even though most of it would be spent studying for the NEWT exams at the end of the year. 

She waited for Snape to give her the key to the classroom and raced back to the common room to compare schedules with Sadie.

“You’re joking,” she exclaimed, throwing her arms up in the air. “Only one class together? What am I going to do in Transfiguration with a bunch of Ravenclaws, without you?”

“Maybe you can transform yourself into a kind and patient person,” Violet joked, masking her disappointment and dodging her friend’s elbow again.  
________

_Dark, hooded figures surrounded her, making escape impossible. She pleaded, screamed, begged them to hurt her instead. They laughed before turning their wands on Olivia, who was too far out of reach._

Her nightmare jolted her awake before her alarm could. Cruico, rang in her mind even after her eyes fluttered open. She stared at the wall, getting her bearings straight, listening carefully, ensuring that it was just a dream, and wiped the cold sweat from her forehead before getting dressed for the first day of classes. 

The nightmare faded from her mind with each step she and Sadie took on the way up to breakfast. She crossed the floor of the much calmer Great Hall, listening to Sadie rant about whether or not she would have any Durmstrang boys in her class and fiddling with her tie. It was ridiculous to have to wear it, especially now that they could all see the much better uniform alternatives from other schools. 

“All I’m saying is that I have had to put up with barely-there pretty boys like Malfoy for five years,” she huffed. “And I feel as though this school owes me a chance at a great love affair with a real man.”

A real man. Yeah right, she thought. Judging by the leers and comments erupting from the Durmstrang table as they walked by, these were just slightly older looking, rude horny gits. 

She grabbed a copy of the Daily Prophet off of the Slytherin table and skimmed the Triwizard tournament article on the front page.

How this a school AND government-sanctioned event, she did not know. Muggle schools, as she remembered, called off outdoor sporting events if even one person in the stands saw lightning. Hogwarts, however, participated in an event for seven centuries that had resulted in countless deaths and injuries. 

Figures. 

“Merlin, people have died?” She muttered.

Sadie shrugged and nodded before recommitting her attention to her oatmeal, and one of the Bulgarian’s still looking towards her from across the aisle. 

At 8:45, Sadie bid her a dramatic goodbye, blowing her kisses and pretending to cry, the entire walk back out of the Great Hall and into the main hallway. If it had been her first year at Hogwarts, she would’ve about crumbled at the strange looks from her peers but by now she’d gotten used to it. Sadie was not one for blending into the scenery and although that was what Violet preferred, she let her drag her into the spotlight now and then, like exposure therapy. 

She gladly descended back into the dungeons, past her common room door, letting the stone hall guide her to the potions classroom at the end of the corridor. She knew the walk like the back of her hand and could’ve done it walking backward, with her eyes closed. 

The muggy, dimly lit classroom was a welcome sight. Cauldrons, strange beakers, and scattered ingredients had never looked so inviting. The second table to the back had been her seat last year, so she flitted through the familiar room and claimed it again. 

As she’d suspected, mostly green and blue ties trickled into the classroom. She didn’t mind the company of Ravenclaws in the slightest. Generally speaking, they were able to take things seriously and didn’t seem to anger Snape as much as yellow or red ties did. Potions was an incredibly disciplined subject with little instant gratification or convenient use, as their professor liked to remind them, so there was no room for impulse, bravery, or even passion; only precision and memorization. 

The second chair at her table squeaked over the stone floor, its shrill noise breaking her away from her internal musings. 

Adrian Pucey, a tall dark-haired Slytherin boy, dropped into it and nodded her a polite hello. All things considered, when it came to Slytherin boys, his company wouldn’t be particularly minded either. He could be a prick when he was with the rest of their house Quidditch team but alone, he was quiet and harmless. Besides, she knew he’d let her take the lead on all their projects. 

Thank god, she thought, there was nothing worse than being stuck with a talkative git for a partner. 

Loud laughs from the hallway cut through the comfortable silence. The almost full class let out a low murmur, annoyed at the ruckus. She whipped around and squinted, ready to shoot a death glare at its source. There was a very well known dungeon etiquette of silence and although she wasn’t a fan of most traditions, that one was respectable. 

A red and gold tie snapped her out of her hateful trance. 

Its owner met her eyes. 

George Weasley tugged fellow Gryffindor, Lee Jordan, through the door. Her glare turned into a look of surprise. Surely they were in the wrong classroom. He stopped walking and squinted at her slightly. It took him a few seconds to recognize her face in the dim room and she watched him register her presence. His eyebrows raised in equal parts shock and something that looked like distress. Their eyes lingered until he opened his mouth like he was about to say something and she dug her nails into her palm and spun back around in the hopes that he wouldn’t yell across the room. 

Four times in one week? She could feel her intestines winding together, twisting her already anxious torso into a bout of nerves. This must be a mistake, she told herself. Snape will come and sort it out, ending whatever scheme they’re attempting.

Taking calming breaths, she turned to her table partner, desperate for some way out of the embarrassing scenarios she’d begun spinning in her head.

“How was your summer, Adrian?”

“Oh, it was fine thanks. Actually I —“

The classroom door slammed shut. Professor Snape burst through the room, drawing his wand to shut the curtains and light several candles and a fireplace. 

Thank god. She really didn’t want to hear about whatever weird, rich, hunting trip Adrian took with his pure-blood family.

Everyone watched as Snape swept aggressively into the room but she could feel Georges’s eyes on the back of her head. How was he here? And why was he looking at her?

“Do you two need assistance finding your seats,” Snape sneered at the Gryffindors standing awkwardly in the aisle. She glanced over Adrian’s ear and watched them rush forward to the table directly across the aisle.

“Not there Mr. Jordan,” Snape hissed, looming from his podium with a furious look on his face. “Something tells me you will be incapable of restraining yourself from vexing the rest of us if seated next to Mr. Weasley. Switch with Mr. Pucey.”

Violet watched Adrian grimace and collect his things. If he was the least worst Slytherin boy to be stuck with, then she guessed that Lee Jordan was the least worst Gryffindor boy. Especially when considering her other option. Despite never speaking before, she knew he willingly hung out with the twins, almost as much as they hung out with each other. That alone was cause for an evaluation of his mental state, regardless of how harmless he seemed. 

She greeted Lee with a smile and a nod. Of course, he returned the small act of congeniality with an otherworldly grin and a friendly nudge to her bicep. She tensed slightly and tried not to grimace. Classic Gryffindor, she thought, give them an inch and they’ll take a mile. 

Snape, satisfied with the new arrangement, opened his mouth to begin class. She braced herself for his wrath now that he was more tense than normal but his first word was cut off by a loud screech of wood scooting across the stone. She turned to find the culprit and watched George stifle a giggle with his hand, now a good two inches closer to a murderous looking Adrain. Snape remained silent and glanced back down at his book with an even more sour look on his face.

“In this class,” he began. “You will learn skills beyond reading directly from your textbook. Some of you are here because of talent… while others, by dumb luck.” He eyed George with disdain.

“To separate the two, we will begin today’s lesson by brewing the last potion you learned last year…from memory,” he said with a measured, cold voice. 

The potion ran through her head as soon as he finished his sentence. She knew it. Of course, she knew it. She watched her classmates look around nervously, and tried not to smile and out herself as a know-it-all. It was always a balancing act. Staying in the good graces of such a harsh man like Snape and keeping up appearances around her fellow students. 

“You have an hour — present the potion to me when you have finished,” he concluded, taking a seat at his desk. 

Lee’s stared at her wide-eyed with his mouth hanging open. As she had suspected, this was not his best subject. She turned and glared at him, suspending him in panic for one more second before smiling. She thought about winking but didn’t want to give him any reason to think that they were friends. Lee squinted at her in a mixture of confusion and realization. 

“Bloody hell,” he breathed. “You know it, don’t you.” 

His expression relaxed significantly, and he looked as if he’d just won the lottery. She didn’t acknowledge him further and calmly reached underneath the table and pulled out a bottle of standard potion water, pouring it into their pewter cauldron with the burner set to low. It would be boiling by the time they got the ingredients so she quickly scribbled them on a piece of parchment and motioned for Lee to follow her. He did so wordlessly, and with more pep in his step than she’d ever seen a person muster.

“Alright Jordan, if you want to help, you can carry these,” she said. 

Lee gladly carried the powdered moonstone, syrup of hellebore, powdered porcupine quills, and powdered unicorn horn from the shelves back to their table, blocking the labels as he passed Adrian and George bickering behind their cauldron. 

“Sorry Georgie, no cheating,” Lee whispered across the aisle, with a smug smile. 

If he wasn’t best friends with the Weasley’s then it might have been an ok setup. Clearly, he had no clue what he was doing, meaning he would stay out of her way, but also seemed rather eager to follow instructions. Regardless, she was sure he’d find a way to annoy her before the term was up. 

She watched George stop fussing and stare daggers into his friend.

“Shove off,” he hissed, bristling with agitation. 

He’d always been so easygoing in herbology but she guessed that she’d never looked hard enough to see the anger, frustration, and competitiveness bursting within. Probably what happens when you have seven siblings, she thought. Thank god she only had Olivia. 

His eyes met hers for a brief moment with the same look he’d had on his face when she’d shrunk her tongue on the train. Evidently, she was in fact, not the only one with whom he had quite a temper. 

Lee burst into a fit of laugher and she dropped her eyes back onto the task at hand. 

“Quiet,” Snape snapped. 

She focused back on stirring the first round of powdered moonstone in a clockwise pattern, waiting for the mixture to turn blue and let the repetitive motion ease her mind. 

Of course, Snape would choose Draught of Peace to do from memory, she thought, silently giggling to herself. Not only was it complicated, but it required precise stirring patterns for a particular amount of time. Also, its deceptive name wouldn’t make anyone suspect that if it was brewed incorrectly, it quite literally turned into an elixir of death. He probably didn’t mean it as one, but she appreciated the morbid joke. 

“Pass me the hellebore,” she whispered to her table partner. 

Lee looked a little shocked that she was speaking to him but reached into the pile regardless. He looked around the room and stealthily handed her the small vial. “Ah, yes, the goats spell,” he said a little too loudly. 

A few of their peers stood up to go to the ingredient cabinet and she bit back a giggle, not wanting to egg her partner on. 

She usually wouldn’t call herself amused during potions class but Lee looked like he was having the time of his life and it was nearly impossible not to feel somewhat entertained. He exaggerated every movement when she asked him for an ingredient or stirring spoon, and acted accusatory towards anyone who glanced over for too long. He was a lot less intrusive than the twins but his energy level was the same, along with the way that he had to turn every single moment into a joke or a laugh. It looked exhausting but he seemed to be having fun. 

After nearly an hour, she added the final ingredients and stirred the solution in a clockwise motion, watching the potion turn turquoise, purple, red, and a myriad of other colors before finally turning a glowing white with the addition of powdered porcupine quills. The potion illuminated the room with shimmering white light for a few seconds before she took it off the burner. 

“Merlin’s beard,” Lee exclaimed under his breath. 

Suddenly very aware of the silence in the room, she tried not to think about all the eyes on her, especially the ones she knew were focused on her in contempt. 

“Go put those back,” she hissed at Lee. 

He jumped from his chair, scooped up the ingredients, and skipped down the aisle with probably the biggest shit-eating grin Hogwarts had ever seen, on his face. 

While all attention was on him, she quietly ladled the concoction into a vial and scurried up to Snape’s desk. He took one glance at the now light turquoise potion and pocketed the bottle seemingly unsurprised to see her although his face had been hidden underneath a book for the entirety of the class.

“Miss Wilkes, can you please tell your peers what potion they should have attempted to make?”

Her stomach sank. The rest of her classmates had stopped fiddling with their cauldrons and were staring at her with annoyed expressions. It was to be expected but that didn’t make it hurt any less. Except for Lee, who was exuberantly giving her a thumbs up, and George, who just looked dumbfounded and a little pissed off. Maybe he’d thought she was kidding about potions. 

“Draught of Peace,” she announced to the cold room. 

“Which does what, exactly,” Snape said, questioning her further. 

She knew he was just trying to make a point but hated being used as the one to make it. The label of know-it-all was no longer a worry, now they would just skip straight to teacher’s pet. 

“It relieves anxiety and agitation,” she said, avoiding eye contact. 

“I am sure you will all want a dose before our next lesson,” Snape said in a scolding tone. “Please come to class on Wednesday prepared, or your grade and house points will suffer…tremendously,” he hesitated and turned towards her. “50 points to you Miss Wilkes for Slytherin —class dismissed.”

She squeaked out a quick goodbye to her mentor, before rushing back to her desk. His praise meant the world to her but it also put a target on her back. In past years, it at least took a few periods for the class to realize she was on good terms with him. Now, it just looked like they’d colluded to make everyone else feel stupid. 

She jumped a little as Lee cut her off before she could make it past his chair, trapping her in the aisle.

“That was totally brilliant!” 

Not in the mood, she thought. His praise meant nothing. He was just thankful to not receive failing marks for the day. 

“Move,” she hissed, keeping her eyes on the ground. 

He stumbled back against the table a bit but turned to let her through before continuing. 

“How on earth did you do that…I heard if you get Draught of Peace even the slightest bit wrong, you could kill somebody!”

She shoved her books back into her bag, frantic to leave without further incident but wasn’t fast enough as Adrian and George appeared in the aisle. 

“Then it’s a shame you didn’t drink ours,” Adrian snarled at her table partner. 

Great. Now they could all fight like snakes and lions were meant to. She just wanted to leave and be done with this nightmare class.

“Awh Pucey, you didn’t enjoy our romantic time in your dungeon together,” George said, swinging an arm around his partner’s shoulder. 

“Don’t touch me,” Adrian shoved him off like his touch was poison, making the Gryffindors chuckle. 

“Thanks a lot, Wilkes,” Lee said, dawning the same smile he’d given her at the beginning of class. At least it was a little more warranted now.

She eyed him suspiciously but nodded in acceptance.   
  
“So you really do know your potions,” George mused, still looking at her, his eyes gleaming competitively. “I’m surprised.”

The look told her straight away that her plan had backfired. Entertaining the twins on the train had not in fact made her immune to interacting with either of them for the rest of the year. She would just have to try something else.

“That makes one of us. You’re just as daft as I suspected.” 

She ignored Lee’s cackling and stared at the redhead. She could’ve just left, or let Adrian deal with him but something flared inside her at the chance to challenge such a smug man. It felt good. It wasn't often she felt equally matched, even now she suspected that George was quite a bit beneath her but the opportunity was too enticing. His anger, although she’d only been privy to it once, was addictive. 

It must have felt equally as strong for George because his face got darker again and he leaned closer, ready to retort. His eyes searched hers and she could tell that he was going to make it personal, perhaps even try to be hurtful but Adrian cut him off before he could say anything. 

“Shove off Weasley.” 

Something seemed to snap and George’s face switched back to a jovial smile and mischievous eyes. 

She stared at him in shock. What was his problem? Adrian was much more infuriating than she was but he barely even seemed to register his words.

“Until next time my love,” he cooed at Adrian whilst he and Lee fell into a fit of giggles and pulled each other out of the door.

She and Adrian followed silently after them, walking together out of courtesy, rather than friendship. One of the perks of such a historic house with noble bloodlines was the occasional show of chivalry 

They walked down the corridor and back up into the main hall. “Thanks for the 50 points Wilkes,” he said, turning to part ways. “Can’t believe I’m stuck with a bloody Weasley.”

He flashed her a smile which she returned with a polite nod before making her way to her next class, trying to ignore the hustle and bustle of the students around her. 

She plopped down in Ancient Runes a few minutes later, still annoyed about the less than peaceful potions class.

Professor Babbling said something about Ancient Runes, best-serving students, as an independent study but she couldn’t focus on her open book and unfinished translation. The class was always appreciated seeing as quiet moments throughout the day were rather rare outside of the library. The opportunity to spend several hours with just her thoughts and meaningless translations was a much-needed break from the day-to-day busyness. 

George’s comment rang in her head. What was his problem? He exuded arrogance without reason. She’d outsmarted him on the train and although she’d technically outsmarted him in potions, it was entirely out of her hands and not meant as an insult to him in any way. Maybe his ego was bruised, even though the only witness on the train was his brother, who she seriously doubted cared about intelligence. Either way, he seemed to be taking their encounters entirely personal. 

Whatever it was, he needed to get over it, and quick. Usually, potions class was the only hour and a half in her day where she got to gather her thoughts and methodically apply her knowledge with little disturbance. She would rather deal with the consequences of forcing him to leave her alone, than sacrifice it.

Even after an entire afternoon and evening in the library, George’s smug face still taunted her as she went to sleep. 


	4. The Secret

_Mom’s face._

_Green flash._

_Dark mark._

Bedroom ceiling. 

Violet fully opened her eyes and pawed at the silk sheets around her, clawing to drag herself back to reality. 

The bed. She was just in bed. 

Her family was fine. 

It was just a nightmare.

She repeated it over and over again but eventually, it was a loud snore from Sadie across the room that fully brought her back to reality. 

She rose out of bed and glanced out of the high glowing window between their beds. The terror from the nightmare practically vanished at the sight of an incredibly bright fall day. 

Agitation clawed at the nape of her neck during breakfast and she only made it about ten minutes before the desperation for fresh air became too much. 

The brittle fall breeze nipped the exposed skin above her knee and at her wrists. The walk to Herbology was cold enough to be noticeable, but not entirely uncomfortable. Although, it made her a bit more thankful for the thick Hogwarts uniform now. Surely the Beauxbaton girls would freeze come winter. Without the barrier of cities or skyscrapers, frigid weather always came so soon. Without fail, frozen air managed to appear early, and linger well into the spring months. 

She followed the familiar stone path to a small clearing on the side of the castle, obstructed only by rows of greenhouses, bursting at the seams with interior vines, and flowers. She’d never been particularly enthralled with herbology or plants, didn’t call to her but it was better than divination or astronomy, both of which she had elected not to take this year. 

Clad in yellow and black, a sea of cheerful Hufflepuffs welcome her inside, uncaring about her own lonesome green and silver tie, or noticing that she gagged a little on the musty stench of wet dirt and trapped photosynthesis. It was a relief to finally be around peers that weren’t as judgmental as her own house. She didn’t mean to generalize but the evidence was clear and overwhelming. 

Professor Sprout instructed them on how to clip Sneezewort correctly and she absorbed every detail of the small white flower that held the ability to befuddle even the most sound minds but offered little to the discussion, letting her much more invested peers take over. Sneezewort was a key ingredient in the Befuddlement Draught, the first potion they’d learned last year. 

She tuned out the lecture to go over the recipe and instructions in her head, just in case Snape wasn’t finished testing them and it came up in potions tomorrow. She wouldn’t put it past him to make a further example out of her. He was the sort of sadist who enjoyed making students feel underprepared and stupid, not that it had ever applied to her. It was one of the many characteristics that he did not share with any other professors at Hogwarts, but she didn’t mind. It was probably some deep-seated ambition or need to be better than the rest but she had enjoyed earning his tolerance, and praise, especially when it was withheld from so many. 

Lunch was a rather somber affair without Sadie so she settled at the end of the Slytherin table, content to read. 

With their schedules out of synch with one another, she was staring down the barrel of an entire year of lunches alone, not that she minded. She glanced up at the rest of the hall, admiring the lax nature of the other tables and houses, completely fine with sharing tables during more informal meals. She glanced down the length of her table, unsurprised by only a few green ties littering the dark wooden seats. She wouldn’t have minded some more house mingling but the trend makers in Slytherin were quite territorial. 

She quickly helped herself to some soup and flipped through the book to find where she’d left off. The train ride had only allowed her to get halfway through _The Princess Bride_ and she’d barely had any time for personal reading over the weekend between brushing up on textbooks and unpacking.

_Finally, he rested far below her, silent and without motion. "You can die too for all I care," she said, and then she turned away._

_Words followed her. Whispered from far, weak and warm and familiar. "As . . . you . . . wish. .."_

It was inevitable, tears pricked her eyes and she broke into a big smile, unable to contain it. This part, no matter how many times she read it, always made her emotional.

The complex mixture of devotion, love, and sadness between the two protagonists was so raw and powerful. It was entirely unrealistic, which was the only reason she found it intriguing at all. Not that she’d know anything about love. The last boy she’d liked seriously was someone long since graduated from when she was a fourth-year. But from what she had seen from the other clumsy, short-lived couples at Hogwarts, this kind of romance didn’t exist in real life. There had been a few boys in her hometown who’d taken her out on dates over the years but they’d amounted to nothing, not even a kiss. She couldn’t talk about the things she likes from the wizarding world with them, and couldn’t talk about muggle things with anyone at Hogwarts so it was, in her view, pointless to even try. She doubted that any sort of satisfactory love would come for her at all though because she was an avid fiction reader, so her standard for men was way too high.

She blinked back her tears and sniffled the rest of her emotions back into her head. Thankfully, the Slytherin table was almost empty except for a few lone diners like herself. Most of her lazy oaf housemates opted for afternoon classes so that they could sleep in. Even the head table was practically empty except for Hagrid, who was chatting away at Madam Maxine, who towered over him. She blamed her sudden tenderness on the chapter she’d just finished but they would make a sweet couple. 

One other seat at the table was occupied by an unfamiliar, rather large blonde man whose face was mostly obscured by his goblet and furious fork movements. She could just make out a wonky blue eye but…not the rest of him. His tousled blonde hair and rather red complexion seemed out of place. She squinted to make out his features a little more. Was he a professor from one of the international schools? No, he looked quite familiar, she thought. She’d seen his face before. 

She looked back down at her own table. “Parkinson, who is that? The blonde one.”

Pansy Parkinson followed her gaze and then half-whispered back down to her. 

“Professor Moody, new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.”

“Thanks,” she responded mindlessly. Moody. Why did that name sound so familiar?

She stared unabashedly at the man, struggling to make out any more details. 

He stood briefly, to reach the pumpkin juice and she caught a glimpse of metal where a leg once was. 

She’d seen him before.

Moody. 

Her mind whirred.

She scrambled out of her seat, trying not to look as dizzy and sick as she felt. 

Moody. _Mad-Eye Moody._ The auror. That’s where she knew him from. 

A cold shiver passed over her as his eyes met hers. He lingered for a moment due to her sudden rise and then returned to his meal.

No. It couldn’t be him. He must be someone else. 

She didn’t hide her urgency as she ran through the halls towards the library. 

Panic lodged itself into her lungs, making it hard to breathe.

With every step she took, she prayed, wished, and hoped that she was mistaken and that it wasn’t him.

He must be someone else. But she had to be sure.

The library doors opened with more of a bang than she’d usually allow, drawing more than one disgruntled look from other students but she didn’t care.

The bookshelves on the way to the history section flew by. 

_Accio_

A book documenting all the issues of the Daily Prophet from 1981, the end of the first wizarding war, flew to her.

There was no time to reach her alcove, she had to know now.

She leaned on an empty wall in an abandoned corner and ripped through the pages, feeling her heartbeat on the tip of every finger. 

Please be someone else, she chanted in her head. _Please_ be someone else. 

Please don’t be him. 

Please don’t be him. 

Please don’t be —

The headline looked the same as it did when she’d first found it during her second year at Hogwarts when she’d simply been curious about the war that her peers sometimes chatted about. Her father hadn’t told her any of it. Only that someone had died and the world was a better place because of it.

DEATH EATER KILLED EN ROUTE TO AZKABAN

The photo underneath the black words still moved.

The same Moody she’d seen at lunch stood over a body, his face still bleeding from the altercation.

She slammed the book closed and squeezed her eyes tight. 

It _was_ him. He had done it. 

_Moody._

The photo flashed behind her eyelids; his lost leg, rolling eye, matted hair - standing over her uncle’s dead body, eyes- lifeless, dark mark- still, face- reminiscent of her fathers, and thusly, her own. 

Her heart pounded in her ears. Silencing the hustle and bustle around her. 

It was him. And he was _here_. 

She felt her legs give out and sunk to the floor in a flustered heap.

No, no, no. Why did he have to come here?

She’d tried so hard, for so long to forget it and now she was forced to reckon with the truth.

Her eyesight narrowed to tunnels. 

What if he knew? What if he could tell just by her hair or face?

Her vision became hazy and the bookshelves and carpet blurred into one reddish-brown clump.

Tomorrow. She would see him tomorrow. Not only was he here but he was her professor.

Her stomach churned. 

He would read her name on the class roster tomorrow. He would know then if he didn’t already.

What if he stood up in class and said, “I killed Death Eater, Rupert Wilkes and his niece is in this very room.” 

She tried to calm her breathing but her brain was static.

Then everyone would know. It’d take a few class periods to get around and Malfoy would tell them all the rest of the story until she formally became the evil that she feared so much. Death Eaters taunted her dreams because she couldn’t help but see one every time she looked in the mirror. 

The room was spinning.

No one could know. 

No one could see that when they looked at her. She would make sure of it. 

Despite her best efforts to calm down, severe panic and a lack of oxygen blacked out the world around her before she lost consciousness. 

____________

“Violet.”

“Violet.” 

A soft voice coaxed her back to reality. She slowly came to, feeling lightheaded and confused. She opened her eyes and panicked when all she saw was black, before realizing that her face was pressed to the floor. The carpet scratched her cheek as she turned to acknowledge the voice. 

“Violet, are you ok?” A familiar voice cooed anxiously next to her. 

She looked up and found Madam Pince’s face looming over her. She concluded from the horrified, concerned expression from the librarian that she must have passed out and fallen over.

“C’mon dear, up you come,” Madam Pince said, pulling her to her feet. “We need to get you to the hospital wing.” 

She found her footing but dropped the book to the floor, rushing to pick it up before the librarian could see what she was reading. The movement nearly made her fall over but the bookish witch’s grip on her arm was incredibly tight and dependable, not even allowing her to sway.

“Oh no it’s alright,” she assured the older witch breathlessly. “Really, I’m fine I just was…erm… lightheaded is all and um sat down. I must have just fallen asleep.” She tried to hide the wobbling of her legs and flashed a confident smile to deter her nerves.

Madam Pince regarded her with suspicious eyes but slowly released her arm. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, yes I promise. Thank you, I’ll just go straight to my room and lie down, I promise,” she rambled, making a break for the front door, her legs still feeling like jello. “Um thank you, sorry.”

“Alright,” Madam Pince called after her. “Be more careful.” 

She stuffed the book into her bag and sprinted back to her room. The sunset shining through the windows on her way back to the dungeon signaled that she’d been out for the entire afternoon and some of the evening. She guessed that she’d missed dinner, not that it mattered because her stomach was too tightly wound with nerves to eat anything. 

As she moved through the halls, her thoughts raced to remember why she’d passed out in the first place. She rounded a corner and caught sight of the doors to the Great Hall and it all hit her again, in an instant. She fought back panicked tears and considered changing her trajectory to the owlery to message her father about what to do but stopped, remembering that he wasn’t aware of just how much she knew and that the revelation might give his sensitive soul a shock. 

She focused on steadying her breathing and regaining the feeling in her legs, ignoring the countless peers she passed. She swore that she heard someone calling her name, but her heartbeat filled her ears, blocking out most sound, so she couldn’t be sure.

It was a lonely feeling, keeping a secret for years on end. The truth of the situation would be more of a prison than the secret itself and so she kept it buried and let it fester into a deep loathing of those around her who were unburdened by the evils of the world. 

She spat the common room password with more fervor than she ever had and raced through the dark furniture and scattered students, anxious for the safety of her room.

Her thoughts were interrupted when an inconsolable Sadie greeted her as soon as she opened the door. She hastily wiped a tear away from her cheek and collected herself, not that Sadie would’ve noticed between her sobs

“Sadie,” she croaked out.

Her sniffling friend looked up at her in surprise. “Where have you been?” The tone and volume of her voice made Violet jump. After hours of begin unconscious on the floor, her head was pounding. Despite the ache, she scurried over to console her friend, thankful for a distraction from her distress. 

Apparently, Graham Montague had been caught sneaking a Bauxbaton girl into the boy’s dorm earlier in the evening and Sadie had been the one who saw them. 

She whispered countless reassurances, and encouragements but most came out half-hearted, not that she’d meant them to. What did Sadie expect from a pureblood git? Of course, she’d never say so and nodded along to her friend’s rant, despite her groggy head and sore limbs from a terrible afternoon spent crumpled on the library floor.

“He seriously thinks that I care,” she yelled, tossing a pillow at their closed bedroom door. “Please, he can fancy whomever he likes. It’s a relief to be rid of him. His constant worshiping at the temple of my twat was getting old anyway.”

Sadies high cheekbones glistened from her tears. She’d finally stopped crying but her deep brown eyes reflected her pooling sadness, ready to rerelease at a moment’s notice. 

“He’s a leech and you’re entirely too good for him,” she said in an attempt to match her friend’s anger while scanning the room anxiously for a place to hide the book.

Thankfully, Sadie didn’t sense her distraction and ranted for a few moments longer before opting to sob herself to sleep on her bed. Violet rubbed her friend back, trying to focus on Sadie’s much simpler problem but she could feel the book burning a hole through her bag, and her own problem searing itself into her subconscious. When Sadies soft snores filled the room, she peeled herself from the bed opposite of hers and finally laid her head on her pillow. 

Despite already being lightly sleep-deprived, she tossed and turned all night fighting off worst-case scenarios and sorting through her emotions. 

Terrifying, she decided sometime around 3 AM. It was terrifying. 

It was terrifying to be in the house that raised almost all of the dark witches and wizards in history. 

To be so close to those whose families still had loyalty to a Dark Lord. 

To have Death Eater blood running through her veins. It felt like a sick joke, being terribly afraid of something inside of her. It was a cruel game of cat and mouse except she couldn’t figure out which one was which. Scared of herself, and even more afraid of those around her who had the same story. 

But those feelings of fear were all expected. She’d sorted through them thousands of times and lost more hours of sleep over them than she could count. These were things she’d already resigned herself to, but Moody was a bomb. He was unexpected and quite frankly, entirely unwelcome and she didn’t know how to react. 

He’d been here a week and she hadn’t even known. She kicked herself for leaving the welcome feast early. She could’ve recognized him sooner and planned ahead but now she only had a few hours to organize her thoughts and come up with a plan of attack that didn’t get her outed, or worse. 

She turned over and stared at the wall, begging into the dark for sleep to take her. Tomorrow she’d be a tired, useless mess. 

Tomorrow. 

Not only would she feel exhausted but she’d have to see _him_ tomorrow and there was no way around it. Defense Against the Dark Arts was a graduation requirement, and further, than that, something she was actually interested in learning, seeing as her fear of the topic occupied her thoughts more and more each passing day.

Her stomach wound itself in a tight knot at the thought of walking into class and facing Moody in front of her peers.

The way she saw it, there were only two options. Ignore him, and hope he didn’t recognize her or face it head-on and let him know that she knew. She mulled it over and over hopelessly flipping between worst-case scenarios. 

Ignoring him hinged on his inability to recognize her name or face, which she doubted. She knew nothing of the emotional toll that killing someone left a person with but surely it wasn’t easily forgotten. On the other hand, if she confronted him after class, maybe they could come to an understanding. Maybe he would be glad to know that not everyone who bore her last name was evil. Maybe he even harbored some guilt, and was just as nervous about her, as she was about him. 

It wasn’t the worst plan, and exceedingly better than skipping DADA a year, not graduating in time, and having to explain everything to Snape and her parents.

She rolled onto her back and stared at the canopy above her, surprised to feel tears prick the corner of her eyes. 

There was a hole in her heart. 

She had to _see_ him. She had to learn from him.

There was no way to avoid being in the same room as the man who had caused her father so much grief and pain that he hadn’t spoken about his brother in nearly thirteen years. 

The pain was what lingered. Behind every smile, every laugh, glint of his eyes, she always saw that pain. Especially when he was looking at her. It was only natural of course. He’d never say it but she could tell he worried about her being so close to where her uncle was corrupted. Two roads certainly diverging and she couldn’t blame him for wondering which one she would take.

Despite wanting to, she couldn’t blame him. It wasn’t Moody who had caused that pain. It was the uncle who’d sought fame and glory by standing next to he-who-must-not-be-named and ended up getting himself killed. He’d chosen instantaneous death over a slow and torturous one in Azkaban and she didn’t feel bad for him.

It wasn’t just her pain, or her father’s pain, or her family; but the entire wizarding world.

There were other articles too, ones right before and right after her uncle’s death that she could hardly bring herself to read. She hadn’t been able to make it more than a paragraph into the front-page article announcing the boy who lived. Its cadence desperately tried to give respect and solemness to Potter’s parents but failed miserably. The one that haunted her the most though cited the torture of Alice and Frank Longbottom, Nevilles parents. She’d never spoken to the boy but knew his tragic story well. If the news of her bloodline ever did get out, he, above anyone else would have a right to despise her. 

She squeezed her eyes tight, trying to forget the black and white pictures. 

None of it was her fault but she felt the burden regardless.

Countless other families had lost so much more, even some at the hand of her uncle. That was worse than his death. 

He had helped the Dark Lord rip families apart, and set the world on fire. Because it was his job.

And just like him, Moody too had done his job. He had sacrificed an eye and a leg to make their whole world safer. It probably meant nothing to kill someone to ensure the safety of those you love, and deep down she knew that true safety and peace had required his death. The thought made him less intimidating but the worry remained the same.

She let a silent tear fall for the resurgence of the dark mark, her father, the confrontation tomorrow, and the uncle she never knew, and finally fell asleep. 

______

Violet didn’t wait for her alarm clock to lull her awake on Wednesday morning. 

The early rise gave her time to shower and dress slowly. Breakfast tempted her but she opted to head straight to the potions classroom where another annoyance awaited.

She found her seat and ignored the peers trickling into the room around her until Lee sat down a few minutes later, with George in tow. The panic of yesterday had pushed him, and his smug demeanor far out of her mind but unfortunately, hadn’t made him any less real.

She kept her eyes on the open textbook in front of her and tried to tune them out, as well as her murderous thoughts. She didn’t have the energy to deal with George today. Any fire inside of her needed to be conserved tense conversation she was hellbent on having in just a few hours.

George must have sensed her annoyance because he leaned over the table and set a hand in front of her book.

“Morning Violet.”

She glared at him but his smug smile didn’t budge. 

“Merlin, you look terrible,” he leaned forward further, faking concern.

Lovely, she thought. What an absolute gentleman and a delight to deal with this morning. She squinted, trying to hide her anger, and fighting off the blush creeping onto her cheeks. What an intolerable person. If Lee wasn’t sitting between them, she might’ve hexed him right then and there.

“Reckon I’m still better looking than you. It’s a wonder why God decided to make your ugly face twice.”

He squinted back and chuckled. “God? Didn’t take a heathen like yourself to be the religious type.”

“Only started recently,” she said, scolding herself for giving into his back and forth. ”I found myself in urgent need of something to pray to.”

She hoped he’d take the bait.

“Don’t leave me in suspense Violet, whatever do you pray for?” 

Like a mouse with cheese. “Your painful demise.”

“And you need God for that? Don’t have the courage to hex me yourself,” he half cooed, egging her on. 

Nothing dark look today. If anything, he looked like he was having fun. 

“Don’t tempt me. A cell in Azkaban would be much more preferable to seeing your ghastly hair every week.

He smiled and tucked a lock behind his ear.

“Violet, no need to be so cruel. I feel as though we’ve gotten off to a wrong start. Let’s start again shall we?”

She shot him a sarcastic smirk. As if. 

“Good morning Violet,” he said, with an even toothier grin.

She smiled sweetly. “You look terrible.”

Maybe a few more back and forth’s and he would’ve dawned on the more sinister look that she’d grown quite fond of, but Snape’s entrance interrupted them, and George scampered off to his seat without another word.

Snape tapped on his podium. “Weasley; scarab beetles, ginger roots, armadillo bile, newt spleens.”

Everyone in the class turned to watch George dawn a frantic look on his face before resigning to stare daggers into Snape.

“What…” he said. 

Their professor him a few more seconds to answer and then smirked.

“Pity. Five points from Gryffindor. Wilkes?”

She jumped a little at the sound of her name and quickly shifted her gaze to Snape.

“Oh um Wit-Sharpening Potion, sir,” she responded dully, ignoring the collective class sigh at her once again outing herself as a teacher’s pet. 

“Sounds like something you might want to invest in,” Snape sneered, turning back to George. “Five points to Slytherin. Davies; spring water, alihosty leaves, billywig wings, snarl quills, puff skein hair, horseradish powder.”

He was quizzing them. He’d done it last year before finals but he seemed to be taking a rather cruel approach to weeding out those who didn’t have their textbooks preemptively memorized. 

“Um… erm…. Dreamless sleep?” 

Snape rolled his eyes. “Five points from Ravenclaw. Wilkes?”

Oh Godric, again? She really was the most unlucky person alive today.

She kept her eyes on the desk. “Laughing potion, sir.”

“Five points to Slytherin. Warrington, name one potion with porcupine quills.

“Erm…Cure for Boils?”

“Five points to Slytherin. Stimpson; daisy roots, shrivelfig, caterpillars, rat spleen, leech juice, cowbane, wormwood.” 

“I….I don’t know sir.”

“Five points from Ravenclaw. Wilkes?"

“Shrinking Solution, sir.”

There were only so many students that he could pick on before she was stuck reciting the entire textbook. Hopefully, he wouldn’t take the entire class time to make his point, but she wouldn’t put it past him.

“Five points to Slytherin. Jordan; moonstone, hellebore, unicorn horn, porcupine quills, valerian root.”

She let the quietest gasp escape her lips and whipped her head to look at him. He knew this. They had made it on Monday and he’d been the one to gather the ingredients. He looked a little panicked so she gave him a soft kick under the desk and watched as the lightbulb went off over his head.

“Draught of Peace!” 

She bit the side of her cheek to stop a smile from forming on her face. It was an easy question and it meant nothing but regardless, she couldn’t help but feel proud that he had remembered.

“Congratulations on paying attention to Miss Wilkes’ work. I will deduct no points from Gryffindor, as a reward.”

Dissatisfied at the Gryffindors correct answer, Snape finished his quiz and instructed them all to study the first chapter in the textbook for next week when they would begin brewing.

She skimmed over the words and mindlessly flicked through the pages, ignoring her heart thumping and stomach swirling. It was only about thirty minutes now until she’d be in Defense Against the Dark Arts. She blinked back the moving photo from the book and tried to conjure any happy image. 

“Psstt.”

She turned her head to Lee a second time.

“What?” She hissed. 

He grinned at her. “Thanks for kicking me in the right direction.”

Over his shoulder, she could see George staring at them curiously. She wondered if Gryffindors ever did anything without moving in a pack and moved her eyes back to the book. 

“Don’t mention it.” 

Much to her surprise, he didn’t. He even pushed George back out the door when the giant redhead waltzed back over, looking like he wanted to pick up where they left off. 

She watched them leave and lamented to herself as one nightmare ended, another began. 

A few minutes later, she stopped at the entrance to the Defense Against the Dark Arts tower. A couple of her fellow students pushed past her, glaring back as they ascended the stairs but despite their sour expressions, she couldn’t move.

The adrenaline from last night was waning and the plans she’d come up with no longer seemed like the right thing to do. 

The stairs took forever, and yet not long enough. She scurried to a corner desk in the last row and took a seat next to an inconspicuous looking Durmstrang boy, who might have said something when she sat down but her ears wouldn’t stop ringing.

The bell tolled. This was it. There was a 50/50 chance that her reputation was about to be ruined. News like this would take little to no time to get around the school and everyone would know before dinner. She’d be the girl that Professor Moody threw out of his class for being related to a Death Eater. For the rest of the year, she’d have no choice but to sit with Malfoy and all the other children of suspected Death Eaters, but even they might not take her. 

Moody’s office door banged open and he trudged down the stairs. 

Sadie might not hate her forever, but any hopes at remaining cordial with friends from other houses would be thrown out the window, she thought. Hermione wouldn’t be able to look at her. She didn’t know if she could take it.

“Alastor Moody,” he was scribbling at the chalkboard with his back turned to the class. “Ex Auror, your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.”

He turned to look at them. 

She winced. His normal eye floated over their faces, but his other eye, held to his face with leather and metal, moved furiously as he called out names from the roster. Her breathing grew shallow as the eye moved to the back of the class, and towards the end of the alphabet.

“Wilkes,” He bellowed. 

“Here,” she squeaked out, on the verge of passing out. 

His eyes grazed over her one second, and then… they were gone. 

She blinked, squinting to be sure that he wasn’t staring in shock or reaching into his pocket to pull out his wand and hex her but he was continuing with the last few names on the roster as if nothing had happened. 

There hadn’t been even the slightest bit of recognition. Not a flashback. No acknowledgment. No chill down his spine or look in his eye.

Nothing.

Either he didn’t know or simply… didn’t care. 

She felt her muscles unfurl one by one, and nearly laughed out loud with relief. 

“The unforgivable curses,” he blurted, starting his lecture. 

She stared at him in disbelief for a few moments before tentatively accepting that, at least for now, she was in the clear. It was astonishing and completely unexpected. She suddenly felt silly for panicking so much. 

Her relieved mood didn’t last long though, as he spoke ominously about the world they would step into upon graduation. Any small doubt in her mind that the Dark Mark in the sky hadn’t really meant a second war, vanished.

“The Unforgivable Curses. The use of any one of them on a fellow human being is enough to earn a life sentence in Azkaban. That’s what you’re up against. That’s what I’ve got to teach you to fight.”

His face contorted with passion and his eyes urged them to see the horrible things he’d seen. His pleas were honest but terrifying. 

“You need preparing. You need arming. But most of all, you need to practice constant, never-ceasing vigilance,” he concluded, before dismissing the class in a huff after an hour and a half of passionate ranting. 

She didn’t give her original plan another thought, and was the first one out the door, her mind running through the warning he’d just given them.

_Vigilance._

If she would have stayed for the entire feast, and been vigilant, she would have known that he was going to be here. She cursed herself for letting something like this sneak up on her and affect her so harmfully, especially now that none of her worst fears about him had come true. 

_Vigilance_. 

She wasn’t at the Quidditch World Cup but judging from Moody’s ominous lecture, that was just the beginning. There would be more whispers, more threats, maybe even attacks, just how it started last time. Even without the return of he-who-must-not-be-named, his followers were surely tired of waiting in the shadows, biting their tongues, and watching muggle-borns, and half-bloods receive equal treatment. If they were back, her family would be a target. 

She had to be _vigilant_. 

The full Slytherin table almost deterred her from sitting down for lunch but she couldn’t get Moody’s words out of her head. She caught a glance of Malfoy laughing with Crabbe, and Goyle, all with family ties to Death Eaters. She was quite literally in the snake pit. 

She boldly took a seat at the middle of the table, a few empty spots away from Malfoy and his crew. 

_Vigilant_. 

If there was indeed something brewing, maybe they knew about it, and maybe, just maybe, they’d be dumb enough to let something slip. 

Moody’s face looming over her uncles flashed in her mind once more but she didn’t flinch. If her uncle had survived, surely he would have come for his blood-traitor brother and half-blood nieces. How could she have been so stupid to think that Moody would out her, even if he had recognized her name? He was capable of bad things, yes, but clearly, only for a good cause. He’d done what he had to do, not only for his safety but also for her father’s safety, her mother’s safety, and ultimately, hers. 

She cursed the tear she’d shed for such an evil man last night.

Malfoy’s cackle tore her from her thoughts. She watched him sneer at a group of Gryffindors with his friends, his white hair unmoving as he tossed his head backward and wondered if anyone else had seen him at the Quidditch World Cup.


	5. Instant Darkness

A long night at the library, completely conscious this time had resulted in another rather groggy morning. Her alarm blared over and over but she waved her hand to silence it each time, prolonging the inevitable. Eventually, Sadie had to yank her out of bed so that she could get dressed and tame her hair into its usual low bun, to get to Charms on time.

Despite the otherworldly eventful day yesterday and the fact that her mind was racing with all the possible opportunities to find out if Malfoy and his father were involved at the events of the World Cup, it’d been a night of dreamless sleep.

She skipped breakfast and wandered slowly through the castle, trying to let the bright morning sun fully wake her up. Faint yells and laughter brought her out of her tired daze as she climbed the stairs to the charms classroom. She furrowed her brow in confusion and listened closer. Professor Flitwick wasn’t the worst professor at Hogwarts but he certainly wasn’t funny enough to warrant the noise drifting down the hall. She knew why large groups of people at Hogwarts usually laughed but… no. She wouldn’t jinx herself, it had to be something else.

She rounded the corner and saw the door to the charms classroom completely obstructed by a blockade of students, seemingly climbing over one another for a better view.

Of course, it would be another eventful day.

She was of half the mind to just turn around and avoid whatever was inside, but she couldn’t bring herself to skip the first day of a class. The crowd parted slightly as she pushed through, only turning into an impossible thicket right inside the doorway. She tried to gracefully weave through the statuesque silhouettes but they wouldn’t budge. With a final shove, the gawking students parted, and she half tumbled into the room.

She landed on her feet, straightened up, and blinked furiously, ready to assess the situation but the room was black.

She rubbed her eyes, hoping that it was a fluke but upon opening, she found that once again, darkness cascaded throughout the room, making it impossible for her to see even an inch in front of her face. The sound of shrieks, laughter, and running feet added to the especially disorienting environment. She didn’t move or speak, just stood and blinked into the abyss, confused as all hell as to what was going on.

Maniacal cackles cut through the ruckus.

“Oi who grabbed my arse,” a Weasley twin yelled through gasping breaths of laughter.

Of course, she thought. She should’ve turned around and left while she had the chance.

More laughter erupted. Her peers seemed unbothered by the vortex they’d all been sucked into but she could feel her anxiety physically manifesting itself into goosebumps on her arms and an audible, frantic heartbeat. Was this a hex? How long would it last? Would she ever see light again?

She turned and reached out to find the doorway again but grasped at nothing but air, unable to get her bearings straight. Blinking furiously, desperate for any view other than darkness, she wiped her sweaty, anxious palms against her robes and scrambled in her pocket for her wand.

“Lumos,” she muttered.

Nothing. She threw her head back in frustration and repeated the incantation over and over but no light cut through the cloud. The darkness stared back, taunting her, unwilling to budge. She couldn’t tell if it was her mind or perhaps a trick of the pitch-black but the shroud seemed to be rippling slightly with the noisy movement of the peers around her.

A lightbulb appeared above her head and she whispered the spell again and swung her wand up to her lips, focusing on the dark in front of her face, and blew hard. The thick smoke-like substance wavered for a second to reveal her barely lit, holy wood, wand. Not a vortex or abyss, just smog, she rejoiced. Entirely moveable smog, at that.

Unsure of the direction of the source, she pointed her wand to the ceiling.

“Ventrus,” she half-shouted over the commotion.

A spiral of wind shot out of her wand and hit the ceiling in a deafening blow, shaking the chandeliers and bursting open the windows up high. The dark matter swirled around the room before rushing through any open window or door, shining a light on her scattered classmates with bewildered expressions.

She felt her heart rate return to normal for just a moment as her eyes adjusted to the light before her gaze landed on the Weasley twins standing on a desk directly across from her, craning their necks to find the culprit. She saw them first but Fred spotted her not even a second later.

“Boooooo,” he bellowed, jumping off the desk, charging towards her. George reiterated the sentiment from a few steps behind his brother, earning them more laughs and cheers from the class.

She braced herself for another interaction with the ostentatious twins and hoped that they were just visiting the class, and not permanent members of it.

“Who knew you were such a killjoy Wilkes,” Fred said smugly. “Didn't like our Instant Darkness Powder?”

“Coming to Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes soon,” George chimed in.

Of course, it was a stupid product. How everyone else in the room thought that this was funny, she had no clue. Pranking unsuspecting people was bothersome at the least but qualified as terrorism the way that they did it.

She glared at Fred for a moment but honed most of her anger towards George’s exaggerated smile and arched eyebrows.

“It is unbecoming for a young lady like yourself to be so uptight,” Fred continued, riding the wave of scattered laughter from a very engaged audience. “You should really see someone about the wand stuck up your arse.”

She tried to hide the anger stabbing at her ribcage as the room burst into laughter but was unsuccessful as she felt her temper growing out of control at the sight of George cackling heartily at his brother’s side. His smug laughter made something inside her snap.

She flicked her wand up and jammed it into his neck, reaching up to grip his tie with her other hand to hold him in place at the end of her sharp stick. The redheads exchanged a quick uncertain glance, before eyeing her with worry.

“Unless you want Madam Pomfrey to have to pull my wand out of your brother’s esophagus, I’d suggest you bugger off,” she growled at Fred, keeping it quiet enough for only the three of them to hear.

Before either of them could react, Professor Flitwick came scampering into the room, completely oblivious to the commotion.

“Hello, hello, welcome back,” he said in a high pitched energetic tone, breezing past the three of them. “Please do be seated so we may begin.”

She felt her anger die in her mouth, and mortification manifest itself into a deep red on her face. Thank Godric Flitwick had taken her out of her angry trance because one more word out of either twin and she would have hexed them both halfway to Hogsmeade.

The spot where her wand had stabbed George’s neck looked red like it might bruise. She avoided their eyes and turned on her heel to sprint to the nearest table, ignoring the footsteps behind her.

“Maybe not uptight,” Fred whispered, sitting down at the table behind her.

“Just mental,” George finished.

She didn’t turn around. The anger still etched into her face would only make it more fun for them, and she couldn’t afford to give them any more satisfaction. She glanced towards the other chair at her table, hoping to find someone halfway tolerable to distract her.

Mandy Brocklehurst, a short, dark-haired Ravenclaw was already waiting to give her a half-hearted smile and a nod hello. Perfect. Notoriously shy, sweet, and chatty, she thought.

Professor Flitwick climbed the stairs of his podium and began his lecture. She respected the small teacher but his lessons weren’t enthralling in the slightest, so she turned towards her partner again.

“How was your summer Mandy,” she inquired in a whisper, to avoid the professor’s attention.

Mandy jumped a little and turned to her with a baffled expression. She registered the question and lit up slightly at the opportunity to tell someone about her family vacation to Italy.

The pasta, beach villas, and difference between British and Italian men was useless information, but a brilliant distraction. Especially Mandy’s story about a midnight rendezvous with an Italian muggle.

“So that’s your type then,” she asked.

Mandy tried to hide a blush. “Who doesn’t like tall, dark, and handsome?”

She laughed quietly. “You’ve got a point.”

“What’s your type? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you date anyone.”

Well, she couldn’t fault her for speaking the truth, even if it had resulted in stifled giggles behind her, revealing that a Weasley or two had been listening in.

She shifted to face Mandy, keeping her peripheral vision locked on George. “I like everything except for redheads.”

Successfully coaxing a disgruntled scoff from him felt better than leaving a physical bruise.

She practically sprinted from the room when Flitwick dismissed class an hour later. How had she seen more red hair in the last five days than she had in the last five years? If the twins hadn’t seen a target on her back before, they certainly did now.

“Hey, Wilkes!”

Speak of the devil. She winced as two sets of running feet came up fast from behind her.

“Leave me alone,” she hollered without turning around.

She had real things to worry about, like investigating her peers for collusion with the Dark Lord, and didn’t need any more distractions from school or sanity. A hand grabbed her arm and turned her around mid-stride. She whipped her wand from her robe and shoved it into his skin. This time, it was Fred Weasley’s neck at her behest.

“I guess it’s only fair that I give you a mark too. I’d hate for you two not to match,” she said, tugging her arm out of his grip

George moved to stand in between her wand and Fred, sacrificing himself to her rage.“Honestly, woman, are your knickers ever not in a twist?”

She glowered at him but kept her arm extended and wand raised.

“You should really be more worried about your neck, rather than my knickers.”

“See but it’s your knickers being in a twist that’s made me so worried about my neck. It’s impossible to separate them.”

“I’ll separate your head from the rest of your body and then you’ll never need to worry about another thing again. How does that sound?”

The large redhead chuckled and stared at her, his eyes teetering between jovial and perturbed.

“Wilkes, if you’re quite done, we just wanted to ask you a question,” Fred said from behind his brother.

They were insufferable and incorrigible, how was she going to get rid of them?

She regarded their excited faces with suspicion and spun around. “Go ask someone else.”

“That’s alight,” George yelled after her smugly. “I’ll just ask you on Monday!”

Monday and Wednesday. Nearly half of every week for the entire year, she had to spend with the castle’s most infuriating person. And on Thursdays, he was joined by the castle’s second most infuriating person. Delightful.

She breezed past the entrance to the Great Hall and made her way towards the dungeon. No way she would risk being trapped by the twins at lunch in front of everyone.

She replayed the infuriating conversation over again and slowed her pace a little. What did they want to ask her? She should’ve just let them say it but she got too caught up in vexing George further… or maybe he was vexing her… either way she was pissed and now dreading yet another conversation with the redhead git in potions. Hopefully, Lee could act as a buffer again and free her from losing her cool in front of George, who was already smug enough.

Sadie met her outside the common room door around 3:00 so that they could walk to Care of Magical Creatures together that afternoon. The path down to Hagrid’s hut was long and still slick from morning dew. Being outside felt good. This time of year was crisp and fresh, the lake reflected the reds and yellows of fall, but the sun was still warm enough as to not require a coat. Even the dark forest didn’t seem as cold and daunting in the autumn air.

“’ Bout time!” Hagrid called at them from his stoop. She stared off into the trees while Hagrid explained something called a Diricawls and lead them to a clearing close to the woods. Her peers squealed with delight at the sight of a flock of pink and blue birds pecking at food in the grass.

“Wan’ a closer look?” He asked, beckoning them forward and inviting a Hufflepuff girl to try and pet one. As soon as she got close enough to touch its feathers, it disappeared and apparated a few feet away. The rest of the period was spent trying to catch birds, watching them disappear and reappear around the clearing, always just out of reach. Hagrid’s teaching was more lax than all her other professors but she didn’t mind a bit, laughing along with her classmates as Sadie was just fast enough to pluck a feather.

After class she let Sadie drag her to dinner, even though she begged her friend to just bring her something in the library when she was done. She had so much homework to do, not to mention, Weasley’s to avoid, who no doubt would be at dinner.

“C’mon, c’mon I’ve got loads to tell you, it’ll only be a half an hour and then you can ditch me again for your precious library,” she said, gripping her elbow with bone-crushing force.

She sat across from her friend and glanced over her shoulder towards the Gryffindor table. No red hair insight.

“Okay, okay,” she said, rolling her eyes and reaching for a Yorkshire pudding. “What is it?”

Sadie’s face lit up and excitedly glanced towards the Durmstrang table near the fireplace behind them.

“So I have Divination right?”

“Yes…and?” She said, taking a bite and looking down the Slytherin table for any eavesdropping opportunities. There were none.

“Well, I got seated next to a boy from Durmstrang.”

“You did? Is he handsome?” She asked, even though she could tell by the twinkle in her friend’s eyes and rose flush on her cheeks that he was.

“Oh yes Vi, you wouldn’t even believe it! His name is Anastas and when we had to look into the crystal ball for our future or whatever, he said the only thing he could see was ME!”

She frowned. “Well if you were at the same table, I mean it is a ball of glass so of course he’d —“

Sadie cut her off. “No Violet I mean he said that all he could see in his crystal ball was a future with me!”

“Oh!” She shot her friend an exasperated glare. “Sadie, you can’t be serious.”

Sadie was much too smart to fall for such a silly line, and yet, she launched into a full account of their entire class together, and everything she knew about him so far. He was apparently very attentive and hardly took his eyes off of her for the entire class.

She smirked. There it was. It didn’t matter who he was or what he looked like, as long as he gave her attention, that would be enough. Regardless, she knew that he was stupid for showing his willingness to devote himself to her so soon because, in about two weeks, he’d be eating out of the palm of her hand. Which was more than fine, anyone was better than Montague.

_______

Violet spent the entire weekend in the library, only leaving for meals and to walk the lake path with Sadie when being indoors got to be too much. She didn’t see Hermione in the library a single time, which was strange but she didn’t mind having the first weekend back with the alcove all to herself.

She used any extra time to read through the book of old Daily Prophets from 1981 and brainstorm. Moody had warned them that some willingly did the Dark Lord’s bidding, but claimed that they were acting under the thumb of the Imperious Curse to be freed of their charges.

She found an article from when the Ministry exonerated Lucious Malfoy, who had used the same curse as his defense. He looked the same as he did in the school photo she’d found in her father’s things. Blonde hair bright under the flash of hundreds of reporter cameras, smug smile unwavering, and eyes— dead.

Sunday night she tossed and turned. The photos from the trial of Lucius didn’t look like someone who had just come out of a multiple year-long trance of murder, and torture. He was in the same class as her uncle and it couldn’t be a coincidence that they knew each other here in the dungeon, and followed the same path. Even now, his son spewed the same hatred that the Dark Lord stood for. No way he was coerced, and no way he wouldn’t go back to his old ways. Had he been one of the faces under the masks? Had he cast the Dark Mark? She cursed the wave of thoughts in her head and swore that she’d stop reading the Daily Prophet book before bed.


	6. The Potions Partner

Violet groaned into her pillow at the sharp rings from her alarm clock. Another night of barely any sleep wasn’t doing the headache that had begun forming last night any favors. She exhaled into the cold silence and prepared for another day.

She got dressed, tied her hair in a low knot, making sure a few pieces hung out so that she didn’t look too prim, and stared at herself in the mirror. Little dark circles were beginning to form under each eye. Next weekend, she thought, she’d have to get some sleep or they would become a permanent staple on her face.

Her looks, however, were the least of her worries. Once upon a time, the only thing occupying her thoughts were tests, homework assignments, and the letters she wrote home. It’d only been a week but she couldn’t even conceive what she’d write to her parents at this point. The Moody conversation was one that her father was not ready to have. Even though it had been almost 13 years, she feared that the brother sized hole in his heart hadn’t shrunk an inch, not that she could blame him. If Olivia ever got taken away from her, she too would close that part of herself off from the world forever. There was a part of her that knew that the issue was festering in her family and that when it came time to saw off the rotten limb, it’d hurt like hell.

She pushed the somber thoughts from her head and sat down at her desk in potions, opening her textbook, to read through the next chapter, just to make sure she was ready for anymore of Snape’s quizzing.

The chair next to her scraped against the stone floor but not wanting to converse with the peppy Gryffindor this already grim morning, she didn’t look up at Lee.

“I’m sorry about my brother,” a soft voice, no less than a few inches away said. The voice was not her partners, but rather a more familiar and somewhat unwelcome one.

She snapped her head up so fast that she saw spots in her eyes before she saw George. He looked as smug as ever, clearly amused by his ability to surprise her, and waited for an answer.

“You’re in the wrong seat,” she said, refusing to break eye contact.

“That’s where you’re wrong Violet. Lee switched with me,” he said, letting a stupid exaggerated grin spread across his face. “Is that the first time you’ve gotten an answer wrong in a potions class?”

She rolled her eyes and scoffed, glancing over Georges’s shoulder at Lee, who was indeed sitting next to Adrian, who looked more upset about the switch than she was. What game were they playing? Whatever it was, she was not going to let the smug ginger get under her skin.

“He’s sick of me already?” She hissed coldly, trying to hide the small pang of hurt in her chest. She’d just been warming up to the idea of Lee as a table partner, but clearly, the feelings weren’t mutual.

“Not exactly —“ he started before being cut off by Snape’s abrasive entrance into the room.

“For today’s class, you will read through the entire second chapter of your books, in silence,” he glanced towards George and hesitated briefly before continuing. He didn’t seem to have the time or patience to deal with any hi-jinx today.

“The reading on the magical properties of moonstone will prepare you for class on Wednesday when we will begin the chapter on… love potions.” He looked a bit sick at the thought but continued.

“There is much to be done in preparation for the tournament and greater forces require my attention this morning. I will know if you do not stay for the full class and the punishment for leaving will be steep. Any questions will be directed at Miss Wilkes in my absence.” And with a swish of his cape, he slammed the classroom door and disappeared.

If there was any doubt before that she was a teacher’s pet, it was officially gone now. She steadied her eyes back down onto the page and began the same chapter she’d read nearly three times already this week.

Not a minute passed before her new, restless table partner nudged her arm.

“Pst.”

She could feel George’s eyes on her but didn’t flinch. If she was staring down the barrel of an entire year of sitting next to him, she couldn’t give in to his antics or surely there would be hell to pay in the form of jokes and pranks.

“Pst. Violet, I have a question.”

She couldn’t tell if he was making fun of her or if he was continuing their altercation from Thursday but she had the same amount of disinterest in both so kept her eyes on the page.

“What do you think about a chocolate egg but instead of normal cream inside, there’s a cream that turns you into a canary,” George whispered, leaning an elbow onto the table and studying her face.

She furrowed her brow and finally looked up at him in disbelief. “What?”

“A canary cream chocolate egg, as a product,” he clarified.

Why did he want to talk to her about his company? She felt as though she’d made it very clear that she did not appreciate any product they created. He didn’t seem deterred by her angry expression, and nodded silently, waiting for an answer.

“Why would anyone want that?”

“You might be surprised,” he said, smiling softly. “Fred think’s it’d be a best seller.”

She narrowed her eyes and closed her book. “Oh yeah? You just do whatever your brother says?”

She was about as sick of Fred as she was of him.

“Tsk tsk Violet, wrong again,” he teased, wiggling his eyebrows. “Fred might be the idea man but I’m the brains behind the whole operation.”

She frowned and shot him a death glare. It would’ve been easy to turn his words into an insult about his intelligence but she didn’t have the energy today.

Taking the high road, she turned back to her book and let silence fill the space between them again.

She read maybe one paragraph before George leaned over and nudged her arm again.

“Would it be possible though,” he asked. “The canary cream?”

She turned back to face him and met his eyes. They weren’t mischievous or angry like they had been the last few times they’d talked. He looked the same as he did when he’d come back to her train car before he ran away. Something about the timid look in his eye told her that he was serious, and wasn’t trying to pull anything funny, so in the hopes of getting him to shut up, she caved.

“Well, a poly juice potion is usually meant to transfigure humans into animals but I supposed if you diluted it a bit and only used enough to make the canary form last a minute or so…then maybe,” she said hesitantly, regarding him with curiosity.

His eyes lit up and he scrambled for something in his pocket.

“Can I borrow that?” He asked, putting a small notebook down on the table, gesturing to her quill. She obliged and turned back to the book, elbowing him in the ribcage when he tried to lean over and speak again.

She could feel his eyes shifting to her and back down to his textbook every so often, but he let her read in silence for the rest of the class. She stared blankly at the page in front of her, ignoring his eyes, and cursing her genuine answer. This was the second time that she’d given him advice about his joke shop products, and now it was almost a guarantee that he wouldn’t let it go. So far, the plan to get the Weasley twins to leave her alone was going very poorly.

She stood as soon as the clock chimed the end of class to escape further interaction but George was quicker. He grabbed onto her bag and scooted out into the aisle to trap her at their desk. His tall frame made it impossible to see anything else in the classroom or push past him.

“Could you make it,” he asked, hardly registering her tugs to release the bag from his grip.

She stopped and stared at him, cocking an eyebrow. “I can make anything.”

“Someone’s a bit cocky,” he said with a grin.

“You asked, asshole.”

“So that’s a yes then?”

She let out an annoyed huff. “Yes, but why would I help you?”

He grinned. “I was so hoping you’d ask. We were trying to tell you on Thursday before you ran away.”

“Tell me what?”

He shrugged. “Well ask you really…”

“Can you spit it out already? I’m going to be late for Ancient Runes.”

“Excellent idea,” he said, releasing the bag but still refusing to move out of the way. “I’ll walk you and explain it on the way!”

Violet groaned audibly and glared at the floppy redhead. She could argue back but was sure that he would follow her anyway and judging by how quickly he caught up to her last week, she wouldn’t be able to outrun him.

“Fine,” she spat, brushing by him and storming off ahead. It was pointless, as she soon confirmed that the quickest pace her 5’5 legs would allow, was still much slower than his leisurely stroll.

“As I am sure you are aware Violet,” he began, finding a comfortable stride next to her. “Fred and I are deep into the process of developing products for our joke shop.”

“Your non-existent joke shop,” she corrected him with a snide smile, hoping for the glimmer of anger in his eyes to return.

But she had no such luck.

“How perceptive,” he said, with a bit of nervousness at the end of his words, clearly about to finally get to the point. “For that is exactly where you come in. Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes could be brought into existence much quicker… if we had some help.”

She stopped abruptly in front of the entrance to the Ancient Runes tower. All he wanted was for her to try out more products? What a git.

“Don’t you have friends that you can test your products on? I’m really not in the mood to be turned into a canary or whatever else you two cook up,” she hissed at him, turning to march up the stairs and away from the stupidest conversation she’d ever entertained.

He reached out and grabbed her arm, pulling her off of the first step, out of the doorway, and into a window alcove a few feet away.

She tried to yank her arm out of his grip but he was resolute.

“What is your problem? I’m not going to be your test subject and if you think —”

“We want you to join the company as our production assistant,” he interrupted more seriously, ignoring her attempts to escape. “Your idea on the train about potions was brilliant and we’ve been looking for someone to help us for a while now and despite your attitude, I think you’re as capable as they come.”

She stared at him, wide-eyed, and her mouth dropped open before she could stop it. He couldn’t be serious. The proposition was so bizarre that his insult didn’t even register.

“What?”

He pulled her arm so that she was only a foot away and looked at her with a mixture of pride and nervousness.

“Join the company, as our production assistant. Please?”

He was serious.

“Let me get this straight, you and your dopey brother want me to be an assistant at a company that doesn’t exist, creating products that probably won’t even work?”

She could barely make out the last words through her laughter and had to use George’s arm still holding tight to her bicep as support until her giggles subsided.

“I’m serious Violet,” he grumbled, raising his voice over her laughter, only to be cut off by the period bell, signaling that they were late for class.

She wiped away a stray tear and looked up at the tall redhead. His eyes bore into her and she could see frustration bubbling inside. He finally let go of her arm and let her walk back toward the door, all while keeping eye contact.

“Funny joke, Weasley,” she said before turning to run up the stairs to class.

An assistant? She kept the residual giggles in her throat quiet as Professor Babbling once again instructed them to independently translate ancient texts.

They wanted her to be an assistant? She didn’t even need to look at the class standing to know that she was smarter than both twins combined, and yet they wanted her to be their assistant? She would be insulted if it wasn’t such a funny notion.

An _assistant_?

She’d never tried a polyjuice potion before and it could be fun to invent a new use for it but any enjoyment she would find out of their proposed position would be ruined by spending more time with the twins. If it were anyone else, she might’ve considered it.

  
_____

In her nightmare, she chased unnamed Death Eater’s through her home town, trying to avenge her parents, only to fail and wake up in a cold sweat.

That’s how the yellow morning light had found her on Tuesday morning, curled in a ball, in a cold sweat, with only a few solid hours of sleep behind her.

In the silence after the alarm clock turned off, she tightened the grip around her pillow and flung it over her face to extinguish a frustrated scream.

She went straight to bed after homework, and didn’t even read the 1981 book, and yet, dark creatures haunted her. In the mirror, she stared at the dark circles under her eyes that had become much more prominent and visible. Even if she did stop reading, worrying, and thinking about the resurgence of the Dark Lord’s movement, there was no guarantee that the nightmares would stop, and then she would’ve let her guard down for nothing.

No. It was better to have Death Eaters terrorize her sleep, rather than in real life, with no chance of anticipating it. Dark circles were a small price to pay for safety by way of vigilance.

Still pestered with exhaustion, she could barely stay awake, let alone focus on Herbology, and could’ve kissed Professor Sprout for ending the magical fungi lab almost 20 minutes early.

Lunch was a dull affair without Sadie to distract her, so she made quick work of a sandwich and headed to the library for the rest of the day.

She’d only meant to stay until dinner but when she glanced up from her charms textbook, the pink and orange sky signaled that she’d missed it. It was futile to leave now, especially because the after-dinner crowd was probably still lingering in the common room, and she didn’t feel like opening herself up to any of Malfoy’s remarks

She looked back down at her book. Charms class wasn’t particularly interesting but the curriculum this year was almost entirely non-verbal charms, which was more intriguing than last year’s color-changing charm. She flipped through the pages, landing on fire making. Now that was useful. Focusing on an unlit candle on top of the fireplace, she practiced without success until Hermione appeared from behind a shelf.

“Violet, you’re doing it wrong,” the younger witch said, setting her bag down on her desk on the other side of the room, and walking over to her chair. “Here, flick your wrist like this.”

She tightened her grip on the wand and flicked it more precisely like Hermione was showing her and the candlelit on the other side of the room.

“How did you know how to do that?”

“I’ve been ahead in charms for years,” Hermione said matter-o-factly.

She smirked. “Of course you have.”

The young witch smiled. “How is potions going? I want to hear all about it!”

Hermione had graciously put up with her excited ramblings about advanced potions for nearly two years so she felt a little bit guilty about having complaints. But if anyone would understand her gripe with a Weasley, it would be her.

“Well the curriculum is great of course but my table partner situation is a bit…strange.”

Hermione furrowed her brow and cocked her head to the side. “Strange how?”

“At first, it was Lee Jordan,” she explained slowly, gauging her friend’s face for a reaction. “But then he switched with my new partner… George….George Weasley.”

“You’re joking,” she gasped.

Judging by that reaction, Hermione knew exactly why that would be less than satisfactory.

She shrugged. “Wish I was.”

“How on earth did he get into N.E.W.T level potions? He didn’t even mention it over the summer!”

“You were with him this summer?”

“Yes, I was with all the Weasleys. Harry and I spent a few days at their home before the World Cup.”

“The Quidditch World Cup?”

Her mind whirred.

“You were there Hermione?”

“Yeah, we all were. Why?”

She didn’t feel the need to hide her interest, the Gryffindor was clearly on the same side as her but she didn’t want to ring any alarm bells either or make the brilliant witch suspicious.

She crossed the room to sit next to Hermione at her desk. “Did you see it… I mean were you still there when it happened…?”

The witch’s face went dark and she glanced down at her hands fiddling with the pages in her book.

“Oh right, you mean the…the Dark Mark. Yes, we were still there when it happened.”

The uncomfortableness was palatable, but she had to know more.

“Hermione… did you see anything? Like, the people who conjured it or the ones who set everything on fire,” she asked hesitantly.

“Yes, but it was just how they described it in the papers, dark-cloaked figures shooting into the crowd, laughing and chanting…terrifying, really.”

“Did you see any of their faces?”

“No, they were wearing masks, besides we were too busy fleeing with everyone else…well almost everyone…”

“What do you mean?”

Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her chair and leaned forward.

“When we were running through the woods, back to our portkey, Malfoy stopped us.”

She held her breath and waited for the witch to continue.

“He was the only one…not running or panicking. Quite frankly he looked like he was enjoying himself and…and he told me to keep my head down because they could spot a…muggle-born easily.”

Hermione looked back up and swallowed hard.

“Harry yelled something to him about his parents being under a mask and Malfoy said, if they were, he wouldn’t tell us, and then we ran for it.”

If they were….he wouldn’t say? The words bounced in her head in conjunction with the article about Lucious. Her suspicion had to be true. A denial, even a weak one, would’ve been easier than that, and yet he didn’t refute it. Bless Harry Potter for many things, but bless him for that especially. Lucious had to have been one of the Death Eaters there that night. Why else would Draco be completely unbothered in a scene of terror like that?

“And he wasn’t running, or worried, like everyone else?”

She stared off into space, remembering something that Violet couldn’t see.

“No…he was watching them…the Death Eaters torturing muggles in the air and he might…he might have even been laughing but he was gone before the mark was conjured.”

So Draco knew, she thought. His father let him watch the chaos but took him before the Ministry could intervene. Maybe Lucious hadn’t conjured it but surely he knew who did, meaning… maybe Draco knew too.

“But none of the Death Eaters were caught so I guess we don’t know for sure.”

The bushy-haired witch cleared her throat and came out of her trance, looking back up at her.

“Violet, does your family have a house-elf?”

She raised an eyebrow in surprise at the abrupt change of subject, clearly, Hermione was done discussing the traumatic evening. No matter though, she’d confirmed the sinking suspicion that had been gnawing in the back of her head since she saw the photo of Malfoy Sr.

“Oh um, my father hardly ever uses magic anymore and my mom’s a muggle, so no,” she answered absentmindedly, still lost in thought about Malfoy’s alleged glee at seeing muggles being tortured.

“Hmm well that’s good,” Hermione mumbled, turning back to her homework.

She wandered back to her corner chair and tried to pick charms back up again but soon surrendered to the need to gather any more clues that the Daily Prophets could give her. What was one more night of nightmares?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to post chapters pretty frequently until I get to chapter 11 and then I'll start a more consistent once a week schedule! Thank you for reading!!!


	7. Apply Today!

_Death Eaters, wearing the faces of her Slytherin housemates, no longer nameless, chased her through the dungeons, singing and laughing while shooting unforgivable curses at her head. She ran and ran and ran until a scream from deeper in the dungeon made her turn around. She stopped to listen to it echo off the stone again but couldn’t recognize the sound. It poured adrenaline into her veins and made her run back toward danger._

Her own guttural throat noises woke her up on Wednesday morning as her dream self tried to scream, manifesting in the actual world as more of a shaky gasp.

She fought to regain control of her breath, quelling the panic leftover from her nightmare by counting the number of bird calls she heard outside. Finally, after about 30 tweets, she felt her heart rate lower enough to jump out of bed and get ready without going into cardiac arrest.

George greeted her at their desk about five minutes before class started with a goofy smile and a curt “Morning!”

She scoffed and glared at the much too cheerful redhead. “Morning.”

“Got a resume for me?”

She furrowed her brows and stared at him in confusion. “What?”

“Your resume,” he repeated. “For the assistant position.”

He couldn’t be serious. The joke about her joining the company had been momentarily funny but it was too early for this.

“Didn’t you already offer me the job?”

His smile stretched further across his face and she regretted the sentence instantly. “We still need to check your qualifications a’course.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes, really. Be a dear and drop it off as soon as possible,” he said with a wink.

This was getting old, she thought. As if she had anything to prove to him. What talents did he have? No doubt his resume would be a long list of pranks and detentions.

“I’m not your assistant,” she grumbled, breaking their eye contact to watch Snape stroll out of his office, looking particularly glum.

“Quiet. Open your books to page 153. Today we will begin Amortentia,” he explained, leaning back into his desk chair. “A powerful love potion that takes multiple days to finish. Prepare your ingredients for when brewing begins on Monday.”

Simple enough. She was anxious to finally be able to brew something, even though the recipe was already logged in her head. She turned to the chapter on love potions and double-checked the ingredients and instructions.

“Alright, so all we need to do today is crush moonstone and extract rose thorns,” she said, trying to begin a new conversation on a serious note, and ignoring the mischievous glint in his eyes as she spoke.

“Please, allow me to fetch it for you, oh potions genius,” he said, getting up and bowing before joining Lee on the way back to the ingredient cabinet.

She watched their backs skeptically as they tilted their heads towards one another and disappearing through the back doors.

A few moments later, he strolled back, still giggling from the conversation with Lee, and handed her the stones and flowers.

She reached underneath the desk, bringing the mortar and pestle onto the table, and carefully crushing each gem into a fine powder. Each stone needed to be crushed by twisting clockwise, no more than 20 times to retain its power.

By gem 10, she was sick of sensing George’s eyes on her the entire time. Either he was trying to make her uncomfortable or she had something on her face, either way, he seemed unashamed by his stare. She could perform any potion task, and pretty much any potion under the intense scrutiny of Snape but for some reason, George’s eyes made her stomach twist into a knot. At least with their professor, she knew what he was looking for. He never hid his intentions, and truthfully, although his tunnel vision for mistakes was intimidating, at least it was obvious. George, however, was much less of an open book. She couldn’t tell if there was any honesty or genuine thought behind his eyes. There always seemed to be something brewing and while it was intriguing to watch the cogs turning, she would’ve preferred he be more upfront. She glanced at him through the corner of his eyes and caught his eye, he was probably waiting to make fun of her for something but she wouldn’t give him the chance.

“I’m sure you can manage to peel the thorns off of those roses,” she whispered, looking away from the audience that she was very much not used to having.

“How many do we need, master?”

She felt a smile tug on her lips at his eagerness but stopped before he could see. She wondered if he was ever serious outside of the few bouts of anger she’d coaxed from him. Probably not. He seemed like the kind of person who needed everything to be funny. His rose-colored glasses probably made his world very pleasant, despite making things considerably more difficult for those around him.

“I thought I was the assistant,” she absentmindedly cooed looking over to her partner.

His eyes widened a bit in surprise and a much more sheepish smile spread across his face. She silently cursed herself for the playful nature of the sentiments and scrambled for whatever was left of the hard exterior she’d successfully been portraying up until this point.

Clearing her throat, she cut off whatever he was about to say and turned back to the stones. “Just get a handful.”

He did as he was told but continued to stare at her occasionally for the remainder of class, much to her annoyance.

When class was dismissed, Violet stayed still and waited for George and Lee to leave, looking very busy so that they wouldn’t bother her, or worse, try and walk her to her next class.

“Professor,” she said when the room was finally empty. “Could I use the classroom on Monday night?”

“You have permission to use it whenever you like,” he responded before disappearing into the office. Well, that was easy.

Her walk to Defense Against the Dark Arts was much more pleasant than the last one, seeing as Moody was no longer her biggest problem, or even a threat really. She even felt a slight pep in her step as she went up the stairs of the tower. Last week he had let it slip that that some accused Death Eaters still walked free because of strong defenses and that had led her to Lucious Malfoy, which had led her to the information from Hermione. Maybe he would let something else slip about the Dark Mark, or better, any information about the resurgence of the Dark Lords followers.

Her excitement died in her chest as Moody simply began to lecture about the details of the Imperious curse. No revealing secrets, or passionate rants today.

He droned on and on, keeping some of his same charisma and talking points about vigilance, but it was boring none the less.

Spacing out and half-heartedly listening to the history of the imperious curse was a nice break from her pestering thoughts of Death Eaters, and Weasley twin antics that normally occupied her brain. She glanced away from the class and over to the large classroom windows.

Yellow light glistened through the irregular opaque glass and spewed shards of rainbow across the room. The colors danced freely across the tables and stretched further in, as the morning sun pestered the dark corners of the unpleasant classroom. Rooms like this made her thankful that she lived in the dungeon. From this height, the billowing trees and far off mountains made the ground feel like it was moving.

She turned away, suddenly feeling a little sick, and watched Moody’s erratic eye movements until the lecture ended.

She read through a few more Daily Prophet articles after a dull dinner without Sadie, who was very busy these days in the Durmstrang dorms but discovered nothing new. It was only 10 when she finished all that she needed to do before Charms and Care of Magical Creatures tomorrow and took the rare opportunity to go to bed early.

___

Mandy was already sitting at their desk when she showed up to Charms a few minutes before the bell, wanting to avoid any opportunity for the twins to pester her about their apparently serious assistant proposition.

She gave her partner a small wave as she sat down, ignoring the two sets of eyes boring into the back of her head, as Professor Flitwick began his lesson on the chapters that she’d read last night.

Normally, she wasn’t keen on building friendships in classes. She preferred to keep strict lines between who she socialized with and who she worked with, in class, the only exceptions being Sadie and Hermione. If the Weasleys hadn’t been in charms, she doubted she would’ve felt any particular warmth towards Mandy but seeing as she was possibly the only person to come in-between the three of them, her friendship was invaluable.

Halfway through the lecture, she watched an enchanted piece of parchment flutter onto the open book in front of her.

Great, more pestering, she thought.

She rolled her eyes when Mandy shot her a confused glance and nodded back towards the table behind them so she’d know who the culprit was.

She stared at the bird-shaped parchment as it finally came to a standstill. It was pointless to ignore it because, knowing them, they’d send another, and another, and another, never ceasing until she either responded or was pulling out her hair in frustration.

The paper twitched a bit from the charm as she spread it open on the desk.

_Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes is now accepting applications for an assistant position._

**_APPLY TODAY!_ **

Underneath the words was a very unflattering drawing of Fred and George with their arms around a poorly scribbled girl holding a cauldron, that she guessed to be her.

Godric. Whatever small hope she had left that this was a one time joke that George would let go, vanished. She could hear the twins muttering behind her, but ignored them.

The first thing wrong with their proposition was that it was coming from them. They had no repertoire until about two weeks ago when she had made it clear that their pranks did not interest her, so why would they think that she would want to spend time with them, inventing more pranks? And why did they act under the assumption that the three of them were even on the same plane of existence? They’d happily ignored her for five years, so they could do it for another two.

Despite their insignificance to her, their friendly demeanor was infuriating. Just because they were suddenly interested in her talents, did not mean that they wanted to be her friend, or even cared about her as anything other than someone that they wanted to use for self-benefit, and profit. They acted as though they were entitled to her time, energy, and friendship, just because they’d decided it so. Anger boiled in her veins at her idea of what their thought process must be.

On top of that, they insulted her talents, and intelligence by assuming that she would be their assistant. The arrogant thought was hysterical but also incredibly telling of their view of her. Had she not bested them at their own game twice? Had she not shown George what it looked like for someone to have skills and capability? And yet, they dared to refer to her as an assistant. They were lucky that she cared too little about them to be offended.

The clock chimed twelve, signaling the end of class.

She prompted Mandy with some questions about a rumor she’d heard from Sadie about the Durmstrang boys, which she instantly started babbling about on the way out of the classroom. She’d hoped that the interaction would help her get to lunch safely, without being accosted again by the redheads but a few Ravenclaws waiting by the door coaxed the dark-haired witch to go in the opposite direction, leaving her defenseless.

Almost as soon as Mandy disappeared from view, a twin appeared on either side of her, joining her for the long walk to lunch.

“Wilkes,” Fred stated from her left. “What do you know about aging potions?”

She rolled her eyes and tried to pick up the pace to lose them but their long legs glided effortlessly beside her.

“More than the two of you, I’m sure,” she huffed, accepting that she was trapped.

“Precisely why we’ve come to you, for it is a truly wise man, who knows that he knows nothing,” George said, matching his brother’s wide smile and quick stride to her right.

“You think you’re wise, do you?”

George looked at her predatorily, ready to row but Fred cut him off.

“Not today you two. We only need a few moments of your time Wilkes. Pretty please.”

She stared at the Angel and Devil on either shoulder and resigned her anger. “What do you want?”

George reached into his pocket and pulled out a vial of something.

“Does this look right,” he asked, shoving the glass beaker into her hand.

She stopped walking and looked down at the warm solution in her hand. Technically, the potion was a bluish-green but she remembered her aging potion from their first year being a deep teal color. They probably hadn’t brewed it for the full length of time, or perhaps they hadn’t transferred it from the pewter cauldron to the brass one and then to copper, like the recipe required. The twins moved from her peripherals to stand directly in front of her, snapping her out of the thoughtful critiques in her head.

“It doesn’t look entirely wrong,” she said hesitantly, glancing up at their hopeful expressions.

Fred nudged his brother and smiled. “Good enough for me!”

She absentmindedly held her breath as George leaned forward and reached down to take the vial back, touching her hand for the second time this week. She felt her palms sweat a little at her proximity to his chest, and the moles on his neck. Funny, she still felt like she wanted to slash the skin beneath it.

“Thank you, assistant,” he said, meeting her eyes for a second before turning and joining his brother who was already galloping down the hall.

She frowned and yelled, “I’m not your assistant.” But they were already down the stairs and out of sight.

Well, that was easy, she thought. Annoying, yes, but much easier than their previous interactions. She was surprised at her own capabilities to keep things cordial but refused to acknowledge it as anything other than a result of the twin’s ability to ask her a real question. She almost let herself wonder about why they needed an aging potion but committed to spending no more brain space on them today.

She spent the rest of Thursday in the library, except for Care of Magical Creatures, and when Sadie dragged her back to the Great Hall to enter her name into the Goblet.

The room was packed with Hogwarts students and their new foreign classmates, eager to see who wanted to enter into the tournament. She hung back near the door and watched her friend push through a group of cheering Hufflepuffs, crowding around Cedric Diggory, one of the school’s pretty boys, according to Sadie.

She clapped along with the Durmstrang boys and a few other Slytherin girls as Sadie successfully passed the age line and dropped her piece of parchment into the blue fire. There were many reasons to admire Sadie but her bravery and spontaneity were more of a cause for worry than anything. On their walk from the dungeons, she almost charmed her friend’s piece of paper to be blank but decided against it, hoping that the number of other contenders would be odds enough to keep her out of the tournament.

Suddenly, a flash of red hair darted through the door yelling, and drawing cheers from the rest of the gold and red ties in the room.

She held back a gasp as Fred and George climbed the bleachers, holding the vials of aging potion over their heads, quickly piecing together what they were going to use it for. She never expected them to actually drink it, let alone to try and thwart a charm installed by Dumbledore himself. She felt panic set in and a knot form in her gut. They were going to get themselves killed.

She glanced around and thought of a way to intervene. They stopped to speak to someone in the crowd before she could decide whether or not to just stun them and throw the potion away. She craned her neck to watch them crouch down next to a girl in the stands.

Thank Godric, it was Hermione. No doubt, they would listen to her.

After a few tense words from the bushy-haired witch, they stood back up, looking unfettered by the interaction.

Before she could stop herself, she lunged two steps forward to assist Hermione in her efforts but as soon as she squeaked out a sound, they threw their heads back, emptied the vials, and jumped from the bleachers into the circle.

She closed her eyes before their feet hit the floor so she wouldn’t have to see mangled piles of flesh strewn around the room. Was it her fault? She’d told them that the potion didn’t look wrong but she never thought they’d be so stupid!

She opened her eyes again when the crowd erupted into applause, instead of screams, to see the twins wearing huge grins on their faces after successfully submitting their names into the blue fire.

No way that it worked, she thought. They were lucky to be alive but no way Dumbledore hadn’t already thought that some stupid underclassmen would try something like this. As soon as she thought it, the cup spat their parchment out and hit them square in the chest, launching them halfway across the room in a burst of blue fire.

She laughed along with the crowd and let Sadie drag her out into the hall, glancing back for just a moment long enough to see white hair and beards growing from the twin’s faces and heads while they fought on the floor.

________

The rest of the weekend was spent catching up on some much-needed sleep. She slipped into the potions classroom on Friday evening to brew a small batch of dreamless sleep so that nightmares wouldn’t pester her for a few days. It worked of course, and by Sunday morning, her dark circles were almost gone thank goodness.

With finally enough sleep, she felt bubblier than she had almost all month, and entirely too energetic to stay in the library all day.

Sadie had disappeared sometime last night, so she decided to take a walk along the lakeside trail all on her own. She dawned a thin black turtleneck, high-waisted black jeans, and a light corduroy jacket and headed to the dining hall to grab an apple before walking out the front doors.

Maybe, for once, she could be alone with her thoughts of anything besides Death Eaters and school.

She walked through the courtyard, enjoying to chilly fall breeze until a group of giggling students near one of the stone benches caught her attention.

She joined the back of the crowd and craned her neck to see what was so funny but rolled her eyes and regretted it as soon as she saw the culprits.

George and Fred stood across from each other, on either side of the bench, tossing what looked like a little firework, back and forth. The small orange sparkling fire whizzed in front of the crowd, making admiring first and second years squeal with delight. The twins laughed and made each throw, higher or more complex, coaxing ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ from the crowd.

George let out a loud laugh, making her panic a little at the thought of them spotting her, so she hid a bit further in the crowd, behind a particularly tall Hufflepuff boy so that they couldn’t see her watching their rather tame antics.

The more intrusive Weasley pranks and products were annoying and truthfully, quite obstructive, but here, simply entertaining a crowd…they seemed to be in their element. She couldn’t help but smile.

The twins moved quickly to catch the spark, making sure that it never hit the ground or the crowd and she couldn’t tear her eyes away. George’s long body exaggerated all of his movements. His face was pinker than normal, and his expression was more carefree than she’d ever seen. No hint of complex thoughts, mischievous plots, or timidness, just fun.

He lunged towards the crowd, saving them from the fire and she caught a glimpse of the glisten of his sweaty bare arms, under the sun, his years of Quidditch evident from the exposed, lean muscles.

She bit her lip.

His usually garish red hair was hidden under a beanie but she could see a few grey strands sticking out underneath it.

They hadn’t gotten rid of it yet, she thought, squinting to make sure that she’d seen correctly. Sure enough, grey hair was peeking out from underneath Fred’s hat as well. It would’ve been an easy enough fix for Madam Pomfrey but they were probably too proud to go and admit defeat. Either that or they thought it was funny.

Fred tossed George an especially difficult throw, and he jumped high into the air, revealing taut, structured stomach muscles for a moment before he caught it with one hand. She tried to count the formed muscles before he landed on his feet but stopped herself and turned away.

Gross. Gross. No way.

She shook away all thoughts from her head and hurried off through the courtyard, and down the path before her well-rested brain tried to convince her that George Weasley was anything other than an ugly, intolerable, annoying human being.

She kicked leaves from the path and stared out at the reflective blue waters of the Black lake and thought of the potion stockpile she’d just set the last dose of Dreamless Sleep in.

Technically, she had a general antidote potion stashed away that might bring the twins looking back to normal. But if she decided to help, they would certainly take it as an acceptance of their proposal, and in classic Gryffindor fashion, run wildly with the slightest gesture of kindness. It’d be the right thing to do, but at what cost?

On the plus side, however, she would get to test her potion out on someone. She’d never run into trouble that needed the antidote, and given her rather tame record, she doubted she ever would so this might be the only chance for it to get some use.

She fought between her two options all the way down the trail, and back up to the castle again. Later that evening, in bed, she contemplated telling Sadie everything that had happened since the train incident but knew she’d scold her for even entertaining the thought of helping them…but she couldn’t help it.


	8. The Gift

The final dose of Dreamless Sleep worked like a charm and on Monday morning, she felt completely brand new. The potions kit she kept stashed on her desk taunted her as she got dressed and ready for class. Without much thought, she stuffed the vial of antidote potion into her bag and flitted off to potions, blaming her sudden bout of kindness on the well-rested feeling. 

She hoped that she could just do the right thing without giving George and Fred the wrong impression about her intentions but there was a sinking feeling in her gut that this was a hopeless venture. She pushed the feeling down deep and held her head high as she walked through the door to class.

She sat at her empty table and tried to manifest the possibility that they’d fixed it since she’d last seen them and that when George sat down, he would still have his ghastly mop of red hair and she could continue keeping him at an arms distance.

This hope fizzled quickly as her lab partner shuffled into class, still wearing the hat she’d seen on Sunday. He settled into his seat and sat facing forward for a moment before sheepishly turning to look at her. 

She hadn’t been able to tell from a distance and through a crowd but there were prominent wrinkles around his eyes and mouth, and white stubble peppering his gaunt cheeks and chin. He raised a bushy white eyebrow and she couldn’t contain her laughter.

“You said the potion wasn’t wrong,” he hissed, trying to hide the small smile creeping onto his mouth. 

His expression of anger trying to mask amusement made her laugh even harder. He could wait until after class to be relieved of this embarrassment, she thought. The white hair combined with the blush rising on his cheeks was just too funny. 

“Yes but I didn’t say it was right either,” she gasped between giggles. “I can’t believe you thought it would work. You’re an idiot!”

He glared at her, and she stared back, doing her best to swallow the waves of laughter that just kept coming. Their short staring context was broken when Snape burst from his back office and tapped his wand on the podium to start class. Despite the beginning of class, she could still feel George’s eyes on her as she turned to look at their professor. 

“Today we will begin brewing — no hats in my classroom Mr. Weasley,” Snape snapped, eyeing George with scrutiny. 

“Professor…it just gets so cold down here in the dungeons,” George said, forcing his teeth to chatter together in a fake shiver. “I was hoping you’d let me keep it on, for warmth’s sake.”

“You can keep your hat or you can keep your head,” Snape hissed coldly. 

“Ah…head it is professor, thank you.”

She joined the rest of the class in watching George hesitate with his hand on his head, before pulling back the knit fabric and letting long grey hair fall to his shoulders. The whole class burst into quiet gasps and giggles. 

“Weasley Senior that is,” Snap sneered before continuing. “Fetch your ingredients from last week and begin the day one instruction for Amortentia. These first steps are crucial for not only your potion… but also your grade. You will find gold cauldrons underneath your desks… do not dare to use pewter, or copper, or brass. Begin.” 

George was already up and dashing towards the ingredient cabinet before she could ask him. She smiled to herself at the sight of his white hair flopping as he ran and pulled out the cauldron to bring standard potion water to a simmer. 

“Hey hold on,” George said, returning to the table. “Open your book for Merlin’s sake.

She stared at him in disbelief. “Are you joking?”

“I most certainly am not. There are instructions, you know.”

“Who has a wand up their arse now?” She said smugly. 

His worried expression wavered for a second before returning to a hardened look. 

“Funny,” he said mockingly. “You’re really not going to look at the book?”

“No,” she retorted, deadpan. “How about this, you can read along and let me know if I do anything incorrectly.”

He smiled and didn’t protest further, clearly content with her doing all the work, but read the instructions carefully and watched her every move. 

Despite the audience, she felt completely in her element as bubbling cauldrons filled the silence and the warmth from the boiling potion water reached her face. It was nice to be back, despite the foolish smiling git next to her, waiting on bated breath for her to fail.

She crushed the peppermint flowers, added their leaves, stirred the moonstone powder in a clockwise pattern, before finally adding the rose thorns and covering the solution with a silk cloth. She turned off the burner and faced George again. He sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes, probably disappointed that he’d found no error in her movements, and closed the book. 

“No book needed,” she stated confidently, watching his reaction carefully. That’ll show him not to be so smug all the time. 

“Blimey, you’re full of yourself,” he teased. 

Apparently not. 

She smiled. “Oh, I’m sorry, asshole, did you find a mistake?”

He rolled his eyes again. “No, but that was too easy.”

“Maybe I just make it look easy. I’d like to see you try,” she said dryly. 

“See, now you’ve got a big head about it.”

“Call it what you want,” she scoffed. “I’m just good at what I do.”

“Hmmm,” he pondered before looking at her more pointedly. “I think a challenge would do you some good.”

“I’m challenged enough,” she said, trying not to let him make her angry.

George scoffed at tapped her book with his hand. “By this stuff?”

“Well,” she stammered. “No, but by other things… things outside of class.”

“You do other potions then?”

She’d said too much. He stared at her with wide suspicious eyes, waiting for an answer. It was too late now, she might as well tell him the truth.

“Erm… yes,” she said hesitantly, eyeing him with mistrust. 

“You have a set up in your room or what?”

“Well no… not exactly.”

He stared at her inquisitively, again, waiting patiently for an answer. She hated the effect that he had on her; the less he said, the more she seemed to spill her guts.

“Listen, if I tell you, you can’t tell anyone.”

His eyes widened at her obvious apprehension to tell him a secret and he nodded excitedly. It was futile to request that he not tell anyone, but then again, anyone important wasn’t gossiping with the Weasleys so it didn’t really matter. 

“On my honor, darling.”

She swallowed hard. The same thing he’d called her on the train, funny… it didn’t make her flinch this time. 

“Snape lets me use the classroom in the evenings so I can work through more advanced books. So that’s when I am challenged…I guess.”

His face twisted into a deep thoughtfulness.

“And the ingredients cabinet?” He asked, furrowing his brow in surprise. 

She nodded slowly and watched his face carefully. Suddenly, he had the familiar mischievous gleam in his eyes, and she could practically hear the cogs turning in his head, formulating a plan. She broke their eye contact before he could pitch whatever it was and pretended to inspect the potion a final time. 

“Violet,” he asked cautiously after a few silent moments. “Do you think a love potion would sell?”

She kept her eyes on the liquid and answered. “I mean probably if you did small doses in perfumes or something but dosing people with it would be…” she stopped talking, fully catching his drift. “You can’t use school property for your products George.”

Her words didn’t affect his thoughtful, urgent expression in the slightest and he pressed on as if she hadn’t said anything at all. 

“Oh c’mon Vi,” he said, excitement practically seeping out of his pores. “Don’t tell me that you can’t see what I’m seeing! You have access to the classroom and unregulated use of supplies! It would be easy for you to help us brew our products and go completely unsuspected because Snape trusts you!” 

The nickname caught her off guard and the veil of annoyance on her face slipped slightly.

“Stop it,” she whispered, unsure of when her voice had gotten so soft.

He leaned closer, disregarding her plea completely. “Don’t you want a real challenge? More than books?”

“Stop it. I’m not risking my neck to help you.”

He ignored her and moved his chair a few more inches. She was taken aback by their sudden proximity but didn’t move, holding her breath while his lips tried to formulate what to say next. They were curved nicely, and not too big, or too small, she noticed. 

“Aren’t you bored? Don’t you want to invent things instead of regurgitating someone else’s ideas? With your knowledge, Violet, just imagine what you could come up with!”

She glared at him and tried to hold onto her frustration but it waned as she fully registered his words. Unfortunately, he made a good point. Technically, he was right, she didn’t have a place to flex her creativity and it did get a bit boring, but helping the twins sell stupid products was hardly her first choice for an outlet. 

“That’s idiotic,” she muttered as Snape walked around to check the cauldrons and dismiss the class.

George stared at her unabashedly with a sour look on his face, clearly frustrated with her lack of enthusiasm about his plan and didn’t say another word as he got up from their table and walked out of the classroom with Lee.

She sat, watching him leave, and thought for a moment about the vial burning a hole in her bag. She shouldn’t have, especially with the conversation they’d just had, but she got up to follow him, cursing herself with every footstep for being so involved. Even though it wasn’t going to help her chances at being left alone by the twins, or get George to drop his insane idea about using Snape’s classroom to make products, she sprinted down the hall and caught him by the arm before he’d made it to the Slytherin common room.

He turned with wide eyes and a surprised grin, all remnants of his annoyance gone. 

“Change your mind?” He said, probably enjoying that she’d run after him. She ignored the side of her brain with the better judgment that was screaming at her to have an ounce of self-respect and run past him. 

“Don’t be a git,” she mumbled reluctantly. “I am trying to be nice.”

George faked a gasp and dramatically clutched his chest before telling Lee to go on without him. She gave her old lab partner an apologetic smile but he seemed incredibly entertained at the scene in front of him and shot George a wink before rushing down the hall. 

She tore her eyes away from the hall and looked back up at George who was staring at her like she was about to reveal the deepest secrets of the universe to him. Despite his enthralled look, she had a strange nerve pinching at her stomach as she pulled out the potion. What if it didn’t work, and she made a fool of herself? What if it did, and he took this as an acceptance of his proposition? She should’ve just let them figure it out on their own, but it was too late now.

“Is it the canary cream,” he asked, hovering over her while finding a slower pace walking backward in front of her. 

“What? No you idiot, polyjuice potion takes a month to brew,” she huffed, shoving the vial into his hand. “It’s to get rid of the stupid white hair and wrinkles.” 

He quit walking so quickly that she nearly hit her head on his chest. She stopped a few inches away and used his arm to push herself back to a comfortable distance. He smelled like cinnamon and fire; she’d never noticed before. 

He studied the vial in his hands with an awe-struck look on his face.

“Wicked,” he finally whispered, almost to himself before raising the bottle to his lips and downing half the liquid. 

She watched his white hair turn pink, and then return to its natural fiery red, and breathed a sigh of relief. The wrinkles and bushy white eyebrows also disappeared and he finally looked like himself again. She watched him reach up and paw at his face, tracing over the places where wrinkles once were before catching a lock of his hair and bringing it to his eye level, gawking at his now normal features.

Before she could say anything he lunged forward and snaked his arms around her waist before lifting her off the ground in a bear hug.

“George,” she gasped harshly as her chin nearly hit the top of his head.

He picked her up with almost no effort or hesitation at all and moved one hand to her neck, forcing her to lean into him. 

Breathless. 

She felt breathless. 

Never mind that they were in view of her common room, or that she was close to hitting her head on the ceiling, or even that surely her knickers were visible from this angle; he was holding her.

“Put me down,” she bellowed, on instinct, instantly regretting the harshness in her tone as it directly contrasted the fluttering in her chest.

“You’re brilliant,” he murmured into her collarbone squeezing her tightly above his head. 

The knot in her stomach grew tighter, and she felt dizzy as he opened his mouth to speak again, brushing his teeth against her skin.

“I have to go tell Fred.” 

His fingers linger on her neck for only a moment more before he set her down and turned to sprint down the hall without another word in her direction. She felt too dazed to speak or even look at him as he disappeared from view. 

“Lee, look what my assistant made me,” he yelled, launching himself up the stairs and out of the dungeon.

His voice echoed throughout the hall and she groaned at the annoying reference. She stood frozen in the now-empty hall and sighed deeply before bringing her hand up to where his lips just barely brushed her chest. She could feel her heart pounding as the word ‘brilliant’ wash over her again, and again. 

Only Snape, herself, and occasionally Hermione ever gave any thought to her talents for potions, and even though, this time, it came from a pestering sod, the praise felt nice. She had to admit, even if only to herself, it felt good to put her talents to use, although she couldn’t tell if it was for good or evil. 

She spent the entirety of Ancient Runes trying to decipher what had just happened. The obscure symbols in the textbook were easier for her to understand than her feelings about George Weasley. He infuriated her, of course, but then why did it feel so nice to have him hold, and praise her? 

Probably because no boy had ever held her or praised her. 

Get a grip, she told herself. It could’ve been anyone, and it would’ve felt the same.

She put her head in her hands and willed the knot still lingering in her abdomen to go away. She wouldn’t be manipulated by such a dim-witted simpleton. All he wants is someone else to make his stupid products for him so that he can make a few galleons, she reminded herself.

Regardless, the spot on her collarbone didn’t stop tingling, even as she crawled into bed that night and replayed the scene over and over again in her head. 

______

_The Death Eaters ran from the castle ahead of her, just out of sight, dragging a screaming figure with them. Their yells and cries pumped adrenaline into every vein and limb, pushing her forward despite the petrifying fear. Who was it? The scream. That voice. His voice._

She’d been fast asleep when Sadie had returned from the Durmstrang dorms last night so she pestered Violet with a recap of her day and night as soon as the alarm went off. Her friend’s babbling cleared her mind from the strange nightmare that she vaguely remembered, and for that, she was thankful. 

For once, she was actively engaged during the Herbology lab on Tuesday morning. Clipping knot grass was on the agenda and she listened intently as Professor Sprout went through the myriad of potions that it could be used in, most of which, her classmates seemed oblivious to. She tried to conceal her excitement when Sprout asked her to further explain its use in polyjuice potion but judging by the polite smiles from her peers, she was babbling too much. When class was dismissed, she lingered briefly, eyeing the grass on the table for a moment, and heard George’s voice in the back of her mind. Before her better judgment could kick-in, she stole enough blades for one batch of polyjuice potion and rushed from the greenhouse. 

As she had anticipated, her velvet chair was empty and there was no one even remotely close to her alcove in the library that morning. The silence allowed her to fly through her charms assignments, quicker than usual, utilizing advice that Hermione had given her worked for almost every task. By noon, she was able to do almost every non-verbal charm in the textbook, except for the one that conjured snakes, but that was just because she didn’t want to set a serpent loose in the library. 

She basked in the glow of success and settled further into her armchair, flipping to the first page of a new muggle book that her mom had sent by an owl. She’d barely read a sentence when incessant whispering, from the center aisle, interrupted her peace and serenity. She turned her head, ready to shh whoever was about to walk by, and regretted making herself visible immediately.

Two redheads appeared from behind the bookcase and she whipped her head back into her chair, hoping they hadn’t seen her.

“There she is,” she heard one of them say.

What were they doing here, and why were they looking for her, she wondered. 

She whipped her head back out and glared at the smiling twins who were happily walking over to her.

“Shut up,” she hissed angrily. “Haven’t you ever been in a library before?”

“Merlin’s beard no, illiterate we are,” Fred said as the two waltzed over to the ottoman in front of her and plopped down on it, despite its inability to hold both of them comfortably.

“Before you ask, Hermione told us we might find you here,” George said in a more hushed tone, responding to her confused face. 

She put on a more composed expression but squinted at the giddy twins suspiciously. 

“How nice of her,” she said sarcastically, making a mental note to bring it up the next time she saw her. “I’m very busy, what do you want?”

“Freddie here wanted a chance to thank you,” George beamed down at her and gestured to his no longer elderly looking brother. 

“You’re welcome, goodbye.”

“Not so fast Wilkes,” Fred said. “We’ve got a token of our gratitude.” 

Trying her best to ignore them, she brought her book up to her face and tried to continue reading. 

“Unless it is a lifetime guarantee of never speaking to either of you again, I don’t want it.”

“Well we couldn’t possibly give you that,” Fred said. 

George nudged her knee with his. “Not speaking to our only employee would be a terrible way to run a business,” he said, reaching over to push her book down onto her lap. 

She cursed the heat on her cheeks, and sweat in her palms as his fingers brushed against hers. 

“Funny,” she said venomously.

George’s expression softened slightly and he slowly pulled his hand off of her book, letting his fingers pause briefly on hers. If her blush wasn’t visible before, it certainly was now.

“It’s a gift,” he said timidly, looking down to where his hand had been on her book. 

She felt her stomach flip flop and quickly turned to glare at Fred’s oblivious, energetic nodding head. 

“If I take it, will you leave me alone?”

“Yes,” Fred beamed. 

“Until tomorrow,” George continued.

“— or the day after that,”

“— or the day after that,”

“— until you officially agree to our business proposition, a’course,” Fred finished. 

She calculated the worst that could happen and decided that whatever it was, she probably knew a counter-curse or charm to make it stop. 

She begrudgingly held out her hand and blankly stared at the amused twins. 

“That a girl,” George whispered, his eyes not leaving hers as his brother dropped a long box into her hand. She felt her breath hitch at his words but chalked it up to the unexpected softness and quickly looked down at the gift in her hand. It was a beautifully wrapped red box with a little green bow on top, like their house colors, or Christmas. She opened the lid slowly, wary of what she might trigger inside and braced from impact. 

She squinted at the contents and when nothing happened, opened her eyes fully. A beautiful, long, purple colored quill sat nestled on top of crushed green velvet, completely unmoving and inconspicuous. She brushed her fingers along the feather just to double check but it didn’t immediately jump up to attack her. No way it was that simple, she thought. 

“It’s a smart answer quill,” Fred said triumphantly, reading the skeptical expression she wasn’t trying to hide. “No need to remember your studies when writing with this little guy.”

She looked back down at the quill and then back up at the twins, silence seizing the moment. All of a sudden a rush of warm fondness for both boys crept into her chest and she stared at them, mouth agape. Was this really an attempt at being sweet? They’d gone through the trouble of asking around to find her, and although the quill was a product from their line of jokes, they seemed to have put some thought into picking the invention that would annoy her the least. She closed her mouth and tried to think of something witty and dismissive to say but her mind was blank. 

Panicked by the silence and expecting stares directed towards her, she just whispered, “thank you.”

Fred smiled proudly and nodded in approval, but George wouldn’t look her in the eye and started shifting uncomfortably in his seat. 

“Well…we’ll be off then,” George said, pulling his brother up by the collar. “Can’t wait to see what else you help us with next —“

“Don’t you dare call me your assistant,” she warned, cutting him off. Her mood came back instantly, so much for the sentimental moment. It was amazing how easily George could give her emotional whiplash. 

He hesitated and tried in vain to fight off a smirk before meeting her eyes again. “Thank you, Violet.” 

And just like that, they disappeared back through the library. 

She looked back down at the quill on her lap, plucked it out of its velvet box, and reached towards her discarded charms homework. She put pen to paper and felt it magically guide her hand across the page where it scribbled out _Crack open a book dummy._

Of course.

It was impossible to contain her laughter at the words she’d just scrawled on homework that was due in two days. Clever. She had to admit that they were clever. 

Clever, but stupid none the less.


	9. Potions Girl

The nervous knot in her stomach was twisted tighter than ever before on her walk to potions Wednesday morning. The last time her torso had been this tightly woven was when she had the sorting hat on her head. The culprit to this thicket of nerves was, unfortunately, the person who she’d vowed to not think about anymore. 

Ever since the twins had left the library yesterday, she’d caught herself thinking more and more about George. It seemed as though he’d spoken to her once on the train and then decided that she would have no choice but to see him everywhere she went. At first, it appeared to be so coincidental, but now, when she worked their previous interactions over in her mind, it seemed almost planned. 

They sat next to each other in potions only because he wanted to sit next to her. He could’ve spoken to her almost the same amount without the move and yet he did it anyway. Honestly, if his only focus was the assistant position, he would’ve been better off not moving at all because Lee probably could’ve made better progress on her than he had so far. She indulged her thoughts about George’s motive for a moment longer and then shook the idea from her head. 

No. He only wanted to lull her into a sense of camaraderie so that he could get what he wanted. She had to be blunt and remember that he didn’t want to be her friend…no matter how convincing of a show he put on. And a show, it certainly was. The niceties and friendliness didn’t mean anything. He was friends with nearly everyone in the school, so it wasn’t like he needed another. Not only that, but she didn’t particularly wish to be his friend in the first place. 

Despite her better judgment, she still felt a little burst of excitement when she heard his voice enter the classroom. She groaned internally and scolded her subconscious. What was wrong with her?

“Violet,” he stated mater-o-factly.

She kept her eyes on her book as he settled into his chair and stayed quiet until he nudged her knee with his. 

“George,” she mumbled, trying to look convincing at reading the page she was technically only looking at. She couldn’t see what gleam was in his eyes today and braced herself for whatever hi-jinx or potions question that he had in store.

“How long did you stay in the library last night?”

She froze for a moment, registering his completely normal question, and turned to look at him, cocking an eyebrow in surprise. “What?” 

He looked laid back today, no mischievous glint in his eye, no agenda on his tongue, just oddly normal. It was unsettling. 

He smiled and leaned closer so she could hear him better over the other conversations going on around them. “How long did you stay in the library last night?”

“Oh um…until around ten,” she explained slowly, concerned about where he was going to take the conversation. “But I usually stay longer.” 

“You don’t like to study in your common room?” He asked, fiddling with his tie. 

“No, not really. It’s nice and all but there are usually too many people.” 

“I see,” he mused. “The corner you have back there does seem pretty nice."

Was he having a normal conversation with her? She couldn’t tell if there was an ulterior motive or not but his eyes looked calm… maybe even timid. Was he just being nice because she gave him the potion, or was he serious?

She squinted at him skeptically. The knot tightened.

“Yeah, um people don’t really wander that far back so it’s usually just Hermione and myself."

He nodded along but didn’t open his mouth to respond so she continued. 

“Where do you study?”

“Well, when I study,” he smiled shyly. “It’s usually in the Great Hall, with my friends.”

“So you don’t mind the noise then?”

“Nah. Kinda like it actually. I don’t usually appreciate silence.”

“I figured,” she teased, knocking her knee against his. What had gotten into her?

He knocked his knee against hers again but didn’t pull away.

“What gave me away?”

“Please Weasley, you’re hardly difficult to figure out.” 

He held her eye contact and squinted like he was trying to read her mind. She’d never noticed, but his eyes were the same color as the toffee he’d offered her on the train. His leg was warm against hers and all thought escaped her. If he was trying to seduce something from her, it would’ve taken a few more minutes for it to work but Snape’s entrance into the room broke the trance. 

She quickly pulled her leg away and cleared her throat, thankful for the interruption. She scolded herself for getting carried away and hoped that he didn’t mistake her tolerance for friendship. Although, that ship might have already sailed. 

“Page 200,” her mentor hissed at the class, turning to the projector to begin his in-depth lecture on love potions.

She pulled out a piece of parchment and stared straight ahead, writing notes as Snape droned on about the dangers and history of love potions. They weren’t going to brew anything today but a lecture was better than enduring the strange normal conversation George was trying to have with her. His pestering about joining the company was annoying but at least she could keep her hard exterior and refute whatever nonsense he came up with. This version of George, however, was uncharted territory and so far, she was not faring as well as she would’ve liked. 

Movement from her peripheral tore her attention away from the lecture as George leaned over and pressed his hand down on her notes. She looked up at him in confusion but his eyes were on the paper that he was slowly pulling out of her grip. She let him without much of a fight and watched as he scrawled something at the top and pushed it back over.

_ What else have you figured out? _

She rolled her eyes. 

_ You’re a git _

He chuckled softly and looked back up towards the projector to make sure Snape was still turned around. 

_ That all? _

_ You’re terrible at potions _

_ Maybe I’m pretending _

_ Why would you do that? _

_ Just to make you feel good _

She rolled her eyes again and scoffed so that he could hear her disbelief. 

_ I doubt you care how I feel _

_ I do _

_ Why? _

_ Because we’re friends  _

She stared at the word blankly, quill in hand, unmoving and unthinking. There was no way he thought that they were friends when all he did was pester and annoy her. Then again, his threshold for friendship was probably much lower than hers. The potion had probably don’t it but if he took the gesture as an olive branch then it was a pity.

_ I’d hardly call us friends.  _

_ What would you call us?  _

_ Potions partners  _

He scoffed when she pushed the paperback but didn’t look up. 

_ :( _

_ Acquaintances?  _

_ :( _

_ That’s all you're going to get  _

_ For now _

She looked up at him to roll her eyes but he was already staring at her. She’d half expected him to wink, or smile, or do anything to signal that he was just teasing but he just stared at her, intently. What had gotten into him today? He was acting calm and almost serious, both completely out of the norm for him. 

The possibility that Fred had switched places with him to mess with her dawned on her so she quickly glanced down at his neck— two moles. It was definitely him. 

His throat bobbed as her eyes trailed back up to his face, lingering for only a moment on his lips. 

The knot in her stomach snapped like a rubber band and the force sent butterflies into her chest, filling her lungs, and then head. Suddenly she felt dizzy. 

No, no, no, no. 

He watched her, unmoving, with an earnest look on his face. His eyes weren’t mischievous or timid. They were gentle, and sweet, like warm toffee. She tried to pull away, and write something back or turn to the lecture but she was stuck, swimming in toffee, and breathless from the leg pressed against hers. 

“Miss Wilkes?” 

The voice snapped her out of the daze and she whipped her head to look up to the front, where Snape still had his back to the class but was gesturing to a slide about the love potion antidote. 

“Sorry sir, come again?”

Snape turned to look over his shoulder at her with a small look of surprise on his face. 

“The love potion antidote,” he articulated coldly. 

“Oh right, wiggentree twigs, castor oil, and extract of gurdyroot.”

Snape nodded and turned back to the projection, delving further into the brewing instructions with no further comment on her lapse of attention. 

She cursed herself for getting carried away and almost allowing George to cause a dent in the relationship she’d spent years cultivating with one of the most stubborn and disagreeable men alive. She replaced the butterflies in her head with flames of annoyance and pulled out her wand to purge the parchment of their conversation

_ Scourgify _

The scribbles vanished into thin air. Meaningless, like the words themselves, she reminded herself. Georges’s leg had disappeared and he was absentmindedly scribbling in his notebook with his head down. She stared at him from the corner of her eye and wondered if he was feeling a fraction of the internal turmoil that she was. She watched his brow furrow as he focused on what he was writing and deep down she knew that he was just restless, and looking for any distraction from class. It didn’t matter if it was her, Lee, or anyone else. He’d talk to anyone because he was desperate for attention and distraction.

He was bored and she was his only option for entertainment. He hated Adrian Pucey and bribed Lee to get away from him. He wanted to use her potions to launch his business. He was just trying to get what he wanted. George Weasley was not a friend. 

She repeated the sentiments over and over in her head until the last butterfly withered and died in her chest. She wouldn’t let him manipulate her into thinking that they were friends just so he could use her ideas, get her in trouble, and then throw her away. 

When Snape dismissed class, she jumped up and bolted out of the room before he could even look up from his notes and disappeared into the Slytherin common room for a few minutes to be sure that he couldn’t catch up to her.

In Defense Against the Dark Arts, she couldn’t even muster a slight nervousness as Professor Moody spoke more about the evil world they lived in and how constant vigilance could never take a minute off.

The rest of the day went by in a daze. She saw him at both lunch and dinner, and although they didn’t make eye contact, she couldn’t even think about him without her chest constricting itself, and her throat getting dry. She almost brought her feelings up to Sadie that night during their gossip session but knew that she wouldn’t understand. 

Weeks ago, her hatred of the redhead that wouldn’t leave her alone harbored itself in her chest and head in a heavy feeling. But now, upon further inspection, a soft edge had appeared around the thought of George Weasley. She tried to sharpen it again, and again, reminding herself of his attitude on the train, and his pestering tirades in potions but she could hardly even remember the choice words that they had exchanged. Now, all she could see was the color of his eyes and the way his lips had to stretch into a smile to say her name. 

The swelling of her heart at the thought of him felt like a curse. She could no longer decipher any specific feeling. Hatred, annoyance, endearment, and too many others to count, all mingled together, impossible to detangle or understand. She stopped trying and willed herself to go to sleep before the jumbled mess kept her up all night. 

________

Before charms the next morning, she stalled at the end of the hall and seriously considered turning around to find Snape so that she could switch her schedule around. She was semi-confident in her abilities to hold George off in potions but he and Fred together were impossible to evade and seemed to only ever pull her further into whatever game they were playing

Before she could commit to a decision, Mandy came up behind her and dragged her by the elbow into the classroom, excitedly spilling some gossip. She kept her eyes to the ground as Mandy lead her through the door, recanting something about one of her fellow Ravenclaws having a crush on Cedric Diggory and tried her best to look interested in the conversation to convincingly pretend that she didn’t see the wild waves coming from the twins who were already at their desk. 

“Don’t you think he’s handsome,” Mandy asked as they sat down. 

“Sorry,” she said, realizing she hadn’t heard a word her table mate had said. “Who?”

Mandy leaned in closer with an excited look on her face. “Cedric Diggory!”

A voice from behind them piped up, “Don’t bother,” it said. “Violet here only eyes for one man and one man only.” 

She whipped around to glare at the twins. George was leaned forward, eyeing her confrontationally. Fred was clutching his stomach and giggling incessantly. She knew they were only trying to get a rise out of her but she was long past the point of return when it came to ignoring them.

“Who?” She asked coldly, trying to hide her sudden panic and slick palms. Her torso felt like it was being wrung out to dry as she waited for his answer, hoping that he hadn’t been able to read her mind last night. 

“Severus Snape a’course,” he said with a wink.

She rolled her eyes and turned back around, trying not to look relieved. Remembering that it was meant as an insult, she turned back to Mandy, intent on not letting him win this exchange. 

“Don’t listen to him Mandy,” she said. “He’s just upset that most women prefer men with brains.”

“It’s a shame, Georgie,” Fred chimed in. “All you’ve got is your dashing good looks.” The boys laughed and she felt her retort die in her mouth as Professor Flitwick began his lecture. 

After class, Mandy asked her to walk together to lunch. She enthusiastically accepted and let her new friend lead her into the Great Hall where they parted ways to sit at their separate house tables. 

Sadie came to sit with her for just a moment to tell her that they should skip Care of Magical Creatures today and to let her know that she wouldn’t be back tonight because of a date.

“I can’t believe you’re leaving me for Bulgaria,” she teased her friend before the dark-haired witch kissed her on the cheek and dashed off to Transfiguration.

Sadie waved her off and scurried towards a tall Durmstrang boy waiting by the door who she guessed was Anastas. He gave her a curt nod across the hall before Sadie dragged him away, giggling incessantly. 

She found Hermione at her usual desk in the library, hidden behind a stack of books, so she didn’t notice her walk in. 

“Thanks for telling tweedle dee and tweedle dumb about my hiding spot,” she said, sitting down in the chair next to her.

Hermione jumped slightly and then peeked out from behind her book with wide-eyes before remembering who she’d let it slip to. 

“Oh I’m sorry Violet, you know how compelling their pestering can be,” she said, adjusting her hair out of her face. “They didn’t bother you too much, right?”

“No, it’s alright. They’re relatively harmless,” she said, feeling guilty about making the visibly stressed out witch feel bad. “What are you working on?”

“I’m reading up on the civil rights of magical creatures, you wouldn’t believe how many races aren’t protected!”

She listened and nodded along to Hermione’s speech about the rights of house-elves for about an hour before she finally calmed down and returned to her book, letting Violet move over to her chair. They worked in silence for the rest of the afternoon, only being interrupted when she called over to Hermione another every so often to ask about various terms she didn’t understand in her homework for Ancient Runes. 

“I’m headed down to dinner,” Hermione called over around six. “Are you coming?”

She thought about turning her down for a moment but the growl in her stomach answered for her. 

“Yeah, I’ll come for a second,” she said, following her friend out of the library and through the bustling halls. 

Hermione coaxed her to forego the Slytherin table for one meal so that they could continue the conversation they’d started on the walk down, about her summer. She hesitantly sat at the Gryffindor table, hoping that none of her peers would recognize her with the Slytherin tie hidden under a more casual Hogwarts sweatshirt. 

She filled her plate along with Hermione and picked up where they’d left off. 

“We didn’t really do anything that exciting,” she said, nervously glancing over Hermione’s shoulder. “My sister, Olivia, and I spent pretty much every day together either hanging out or helping our parents at the cafe.”

“I didn’t know your family had a cafe,” Hermione said, furrowing her brow at the new information. 

One thing she deeply appreciated about the young witch was that she wasn’t capable of faking interest. She asked questions because she genuinely wanted to know the answer to them. Now whether that curiosity was due to nosiness or kindness was up for interpretation, but the gesture was still the same. 

She shrugged. “It’s not anything grand, just a small coffee shop in our town.”

“That must be brilliant,” Hermione exclaimed, probably imaging something much more glamorous than the truth of her family’s small, cozy shop. 

“It’s fantastic,” she admitted. And it was. Some of her favorite memories were of her parents working behind the bar in the evenings and her and Olivia reading on the plush tufted couches near the fireplace until they closed. Suddenly, her heart ached. She hadn’t even thought of writing to her sister, or mother about the situation with George, not that she’d even know where to begin. What would they think of her predicament? 

“Is Olivia excited to come to Hogwarts next year?”

Violet smiled. She never really got to talk about her family to anyone at Hogwarts. Most of her peers didn’t really understand her references to the muggle world or her attachment to them. It was a relief to speak with someone who understood. 

“Oh definitely, but she is a bit nervous that she’ll be sorted into Gryffindor.”

Hermione giggled and promised that she’d put in a good word with the hat and Violet felt the home-sized hole in her heart shrink a little as they spoke about the muggle music and books they’d consumed over the summer. 

She was shocked to learn that Hermione hated her favorite band, The Clash because she thought that it was much too noisy and discombobulated to be considered music. The debate continued until Hermione waved over her shoulder towards the doors of the Great Hall. 

She turned, hoping that it was only Harry, but much to her disdain, the boy who lived was joined by virtually the entire Weasley clan, minus Ron. Fred spotted her first and ran over. She would’ve just got up and left but they were blocking her route to the door, and Malfoy had just sat down at the Slytherin table and there was no way he wouldn’t notice her in a confrontation with the Weasley twins in the main aisle. She was stuck.

“You finally converted her Hermione?” Fred said, scooting into the seat next to the younger witch. “Oi, we got one of you buggers,” he yelled back towards her own table, relishing in her uncomfortableness. 

“How nice of our assistant to be waiting on us for a change,” George said, stepping over the bench and scooting in next to her. They were no closer than they usually were in potions but inexplicably, his proximity made her blush. She stared at Hermione in a cry for help but it did no good as she was already deep in a conversation with Harry. 

“Assistant?” A small redhead sitting down next to Fred said. Her question went unacknowledged and she furrowed her brow, looking a little disgruntled at the lack of attention from what Violet assumed were, her brothers. 

Violet turned to face her and smiled, ignoring the heat rising from her torso when her bare knee brushed against George’s for a moment.

“I’m Violet,” she said. “Not their assistant.”

The girl lit up. “You’re the potions girl then,” she exclaimed excitedly, turning to stare at George with a smug grin. “I’m Ginny.”

“Oh, yeah, I guess I am the potions girl,” she confirmed. Had he talked about her to his family? She glanced up at George who was already sheepishly looking at her and nudged his elbow slightly, just so that he knew the jig was up and that she’d definitely be teasing him about this later. 

“Yep, that’s her, the potions girl,” George repeated. 

She giggled at his repetitive statement but didn’t break their eye contact. He moved his elbow to touch hers again and she felt her breath hitch. The butterflies she’d thought had died, fluttered swiftly through her chest. She watched the timidness that she’d first seen in his eyes on the train return. His face scrunched slightly as he smiled. How had she never noticed the freckles on his nose or the rose of his cheeks?

The noise of the Great Hall disappeared as she pressed the rest of her forearm into his. It was strange that the one-dimensional man she couldn’t stand a year ago suddenly held so many multitudes. Loud and annoying yes, but also funny, shy, and maybe even sweet. She opened her mouth to tease him but stopped, not wanting to give him a reason to move. His eyes flicked down to her mouth and he furrowed his brow for a moment before parting his lips to say something, only to be cut off by Ginny before he could form a word. 

“It’s really nice to meet you,” she said. 

Right. She was still most definitely in public and sitting in full view of everyone at the Gryffindor table. She let her arm slide off the table and tore her eyes away from George, looking back to acknowledge Ginny and Fred, who were trying not to giggle. Surely her face was glowing red by now. 

“Thank you, you too,” she fumbled over the words slightly. All three Weasleys were staring at her, and Hermione was still not cutting in to help. 

“Um, it’s been lovely Hermione but unfortunately it seems as though your table has a pest infestation,” she said, cringing at her own forced remark. 

The bushy hair witch turned towards her briefly and gave her a wave goodbye. 

She swung a leg over the bench and found herself facing George’s amused face. Idiot. Why hadn’t she just turned the other way? The awkward angle made her more anxious to leave and in her hastiness,  s he tripped a little dragging her other leg over the bench. George shot out a hand to help her up but severely miscalculated and made contact with the top of her thigh, instead of her arm. She stared at him in shock as the movement had caused her skirt to ride up and his hand met her flesh, instead of rough fabric. 

His eyes went wide as he accidentally caressed the inside of her thigh. They froze and stared at one another for a silent beat before she quickly stood up before anyone could walk by and see George Weasley with his hand up her skirt. He looked down at the table, turning bright red, and muttered something along the lines of “Sorry, see you tomorrow.” But she was already halfway down the aisle. Fred tried to yell something at her from the distance but she didn’t hear it. 

Half running, half walking, she flew up to the library, gathered her stuff, and retreated back down to the dungeon. Thank Godric the common room was empty when she got there, the last thing she needed was a bunch of her stoic peers staring at her tomato face and shaky legs. 

Safely back in her room, she stood in the mirror and stared at her reflection. The look in her eye was different. Her blue iris’s had nearly disappeared with the widening of her pupils. The black-eyed girl in the mirror looked more akin to a shark who’d just tasted blood, than a seventeen-year-old girl. She’d never even kissed a boy, let alone had one’s hand on her bare skin so she was unsure of how she was supposed to be feeling. A shiver ran down her spine as she felt the remnants of George’s rough fingers on such an intimate spot. She lifted her skirt and traced over the place they had been, trying to recreate the sensation. A burning under her navel threatened to release through her throat at the touch but she stopped and tugged her skirt back down. 

No way,  _ gross _ . 

She tore herself away from the mirror at sat on her bed with her head in her hands.

He was bored and she was his only option for entertainment. He hated Adrian Pucey and bribed Lee to get away from him. He wanted to use her potions to launch his business. He was just trying to get what he wanted. George Weasley was not a friend. 

But, George Weasley… had touched her. Accidentally of course, but regardless, even after changing into her pajamas, finishing her homework, and snuggling into bed, the heat spreading from her thigh to her navel, and across her whole body was impossible to ignore.

No. No way. 

She steered her thoughts to potions on Monday and what would be required of her in the next lesson. All they had left for Amortentia was to stir the potion seven times each day for the next seven days. Easy enough, and it would require minimal interaction and conversation with her lab partner. 

Her lab partner. 

_ George.  _

She battled with her subconscious as it tried to remind her of the moment he had brushed against her thigh. Her hand absentmindedly traced the spot where he had grabbed her waist to lift her into a bear hug. 

He was warm, tall, and  _ strong _ . 

She let her fingers move further down, remembering the feeling of his lips brushing her collarbone and his breath on her neck. Her fingers brushed past her waistband and pawed at the aching spot below her navel. 

The real George from her memories, dissolved into a fantasy version of him as her fingers moved against her core; one who held her tight, intertwined his fingers in hers and caressed her bare skin with his teeth against her neck. She turned to press the side of her face into the pillow to drown out the deep moans and sighs escaping her throat. 

Her fingers moved in quick, short circles as thoughts of George gripping her thigh harder berated her mind. 

He could’ve held it tight, forcing her back down onto the bench, and shoved his hand up her skirt, without anyone seeing. She could’ve ridden his fingers against the hardwood and came into his hand all while her robes blocked the view. 

She saw her hands in his hair, on his chest, and around his neck. Her mind moved their naked bodies from her bed to a hidden hallway, before landing on their potions table. 

In one final vibration, she reached the peak, and images of her face buried in red hair swirled through her mind as waves of climax washed over her body. 

George. George. George. George. 

_ Fuck _ .

She refocused her ecstasy clouded brain and stared up at the canopy, catching her breath.

Oh no. 

She tore her hand away from herself like her skin was on fire. 

No, no, no, no. 

The fantastical images still floated in her mind but now they looked more menacing and made her feel a pang of immense guilt. 

She ripped back her duvet and sprinted to the bathroom down the hall to wash her hands in disgust, even though no amount of soap in the world could wash away what she’d just done. 

She met her own tired, wild eyes in the bathroom mirror and could hardly recognize herself. The breathless, feral, blushing woman staring back at her was someone she had never seen before. She splashed her rose-tinted cheeks with cold water, in an attempt to snap herself out of whatever the fuck that was and zeroed in on her eyes, trying to hypnotize herself back to normal. 

She wasn’t George’s friend. She wasn’t his assistant, and she definitely wasn’t going to do that again. 


	10. The Punching Telescope

Instead of Death Eaters; guilt, disgust, and confusion pestered her dreams, ensuring another weekend of restless sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, there was a terrorizing reminder of the night before. Not that she would’ve been able to sleep anyway, due to the castle’s undeniable energy from the drama that unfolded Friday night. 

She had purposefully skipped the champion naming ceremony, knowing full well that Sadie was more than capable of recounting whose names were chosen for the tournament, as well as the crowd’s reaction. 

Friday night, Sadie came to find her in the library, right after the ceremony, stating that she couldn’t wait for another second to tell her the news. 

“Vi, Violet,” Sadie hissed loudly, running down the main aisle, a cascade of ‘shh’s’ following her as she went. “You are never going to believe what just happened.”

She felt her heart rate pick up at the thought of her friend actually having to compete in deadly tasks and sat up in her chair, staring wildly at her friend. “You weren’t chosen were you?” 

“Godric no, it’s Cedric Diggory,” she said, sitting on the ottoman near Violets feet. “But get this, he wasn’t the only one chosen from Hogwarts. The cup freaked and spat out Harry Potter too! Of course, we were all shocked, I mean he’s only fourteen!”

“That’s absolutely mental,” was all she was able to get out before Sadie rambled on and on about what everyone else was saying about Harry. She felt bad for him and disagreed with her friend about the possibility of him putting his name in the Goblet. As if that kid needed any more people knowing his name, she thought. It was strange though, danger always seemed to find him. She made a mental note to bring it up to Hermione the next time she saw her.

The school felt almost electric on Saturday morning as nearly everyone had heard the news. 

The general consensus seemed to be confusion but her peers at the Slytherin table were more offended than most during breakfast and ranted openly, along with a few Durmstrang boys who’d been recruited into Malfoy’s squad. 

“Wait until my father hears about this,” Malfoy spat to anyone who would listen. “This school has gone to shit.”

She grabbed a piece of toast and abandoned vigilance for the day, hurrying out of the Great Hall before she had to hear another word from the albino asshole, and stayed in the library for the remainder of the weekend. 

______

Her alarm lulled her awake on Monday morning, taking images of the George that held her tight away with it, and replacing them with a sharp pain in her head. 

She walked through the common room and caught a glimpse of herself in one of the large ornate mirrors. Godric, she needed to get her sleeping and eating schedule under control, and quick. One more weekend like this one would surely make the purple and blue shadows under her eyes permanent.

She grabbed a green apple from a bowl of fruit near the door. The sour tasted sharpened her mind as she walked down the corridor towards potions. Hopefully, Snape could bore them with another lecture today, so she wouldn’t have to face George. She doubted he was talented at occlumency but his eyes always seemed to see through her, regardless. 

She rounded the corner, chewing her lip and worrying about the inevitable, and caught the attention of Lee, who was standing at the potions door, waving furiously at her. 

“Awh,” he exclaimed. “It’s always so awkward to see your ex.”

She thought about asking him to switch back to being her partner but knew he’d blab to George instantly and she’d never hear the end of it. 

She smiled and patted his shoulder as she passed through the door. “You’ll get over me someday.”

Her hands couldn’t stop fidgeting as she sat down, and she had to use every fiber of self-control left in her to not blatantly turn around and stare at the door. 

It was going to be fine, she told herself, he didn’t know what she had done and he would never know. Maybe he would be just as embarrassed as her, seeing as it was he who touched her accidentally. Had he had thought about it too? Did he feel guilty, or nervous after? Maybe she hadn’t been alone in her fantasies last night. She shut the thought faucet off before it could drown her and focused on emptying her mind. 

When she finally heard him greet Lee out in the hallway, she could’ve bashed her head against the table with nerves and frustration but his sudden presence drew her away from the destructive fantasies. The knot in her stomach tightened once more. 

“Violet, my darling assistant, how are you this fine Monday?” He asked, scooting his chair to face her instead of the table.

Ok, so he definitely wasn’t nervous or shy about it. His strange smokey sweet scent assaulted her senses as he spoke, floating through her naval cavity, past her heart, turning into butterflies in her chest. Why did he always have to be so close?

“I was fine until you walked in,” she said, eyeing him hesitantly. 

“And now you’re doing so much better? All because I’m here?” He asked with fake shock, purposefully misinterpreting her words. 

Ignoring his remarks, she looked down at his hunched figure, a little more than a foot from her, and noticed that he looked incomplete. “You forgot your tie,” she said, trying to sound more critical than observational. 

“Well that wouldn’t have happened if my assistant was doing her job correctly,” he grinned up at her. 

“If I was your assistant, I would’ve used that tie to strangle you by now.”

He laughed and turned towards the front as Snape swept into the room. 

His scent lingered in her nose and throat, the cinnamon burning her eyes and cheeks. She glanced over past George, at Lee and Adrian. If only they could have a crumb of what they had as a partner dynamic, polite disdain and silence would be much better than the awkwardness that she was surely exuding. 

She silenced her thoughts of shame and fought off a blush as she accidentally mistook reality George for fantasy George when he flexed his hand on the table and refocused on Snape’s lecture, desperate for a distraction. 

“Tend to your Amortentia and gather a bag of moonstone from the front,” Snape said with deep contempt. “Page 215 will further instruct you on the properties by which to judge the stones. I want a two scroll report on your findings by the end of class.”

She moved behind George’s chair before he could cut her off from the center aisle and rolled her eyes as he challenged her to a race. Stifling a giggle, she kept her eyes focused on the storage shelves at the end of the room as he ran in slow motion beside her. 

“You hog all the fun,” he said from behind her as she stirred their concoction seven times in a clockwise manner. She smiled and covered the cauldron again with the silk cloth, making sure that it was tightly sealed so no light could get in. 

Back at their table, she took a little too much pleasure in being able to explain almost the entire lesson to him, even though he said he’d read the chapter about moonstones before class. She showed him how to use the tiny microscopes and magnifying glasses to inspect the rainbow veins of each small white jewel and tried not to smile when he turned into a little kid, excited about Christmas, with every small discovery he made. 

She worked through most of their pile, diligently taking notes, but gave him some of the more exciting looking gems to gawk at.

“Violet, look at this one,” he whispered excitedly, shoving the rock towards her face. She leaned down hesitantly and brought her eye to his magnifying glass. Orange and red lapped at the milky white exterior and danced like fire in the light. 

“Looks like your hair,” she mused, instantly regretting the tender thoughtfulness dripping from her words. Looking up from the gem and back at her table mate, she bit her lip nervously as he held her gaze. 

“Thanks” he whispered, looking back down at the stone. His softness flustered her and before he could get any ideas, she hardened her expression and turned away. 

“It wasn't a compliment,” she huffed. 

“Nah, you just think I look like a beautiful and powerful gemstone,” he nudged her arm and she felt the stomach knot tighten. “Brilliant insult.”

She glared at him but decided to end the conversation there, afraid of what she might reveal about the inner workings of her mind next. He eventually stopped smiling but she could sense his restlessness at her refusal to acknowledge him again. It was near impossible for him to ever just sit still and shut up.

“Pst,” he hissed. “Wanna see something cool?”

“Okay,” she said hesitantly. 

“Try using this,” he said, searching in his bag for a moment before dropping a short black cylinder onto the table near her pile of moonstones

She stared at the object for a moment before plucking it off the table to inspect it, not trying to hide her mistrust. 

“Yeah right, knowing you it’ll probably suck my eye out, or give me permanent brain damage.”

“Oh c’mon Vi,” he cooed, flashing her a sweet, innocent smile. “I think you know me better than that by now.” 

She couldn’t figure out why but the nickname sounded so much different coming out of his mouth than when anyone else said it but it made her better judgment lapse. She brought the cylinder closer to her face, eyeing him cautiously and lingering to give him one last chance to change his mind if it was indeed a cruel prank. It was probably just a kaleidoscope or something, she thought, deciding, inexplicably, to trust him.

She glanced up at Snape for a second to confirm that his attention was directed elsewhere and brought the telescope up to her eye, pulling the end and extending it to its full length.

As soon as her lid touched the cold metal, she heard a loud popping noise and yelped in pain as the telescope exploded slightly, forcing something to bash into her eyes. The force knocked her back and before she could catch herself, her head caught the edge of the table before falling to the floor. The last thing she saw before darkness clouded her vision and consciousness faded was George falling to his knees next to her, and Snape yelling something from afar. 

_______

Violet’s temples pounded as she slowly rolled her head from side to side, trying to force herself awake. The pillow underneath her felt stiffer than the one on her bed and there was no alarm clock blaring in her ears. She scrambled to hear something familiar like the sound of Sadies snoring, but there was nothing but chirping birds and a bright light against her eyelids. Definitely not the dungeon.

“What the fuck,” she grumbled, trying to open her eyes but wincing as one of them only opened halfway, causing a shooting pain throughout her face and head. The pounding subsided after a few moments and she tried again. Through her one open eye, she was able to make out a lounging figure on the chair next to what she suspected to be her hospital wing bed. 

“It feels like I got punched in the face,” she mumbled, hoping that the figure could hear her. 

“You did.”

Thank Godric, it was just Sadie. Her friend leaned against the bed and grabbed her hand, coming fully into view.

“How are you feeling?”

“Terrible. Where am I?”

“Hospital wing. Vi don’t try and get up, ok?” She said, pushing Violet gently back down onto the bed.

“What happened?”

“Weasley gave you some stupid trick telescope. It bashed your face in and made you hit your head. At least, that’s what Pucey told me,” she said hesitantly, in a cautious tone. “You got knocked out and Snape made Weasley carry you up here and then really let his dumb ass have it when he asked if he could stay until you woke up. I think he’s got detention for the rest of the week.”

“You saw George?” She asked in confusion. 

“No, if I would’ve seen him, he’d be dead. That’s just what some kid in here for a headache told me when I came looking for you. Oh, and Snape said you’re excused from the rest of your classes this week because Pomfrey thinks you’ve got a concussion.”

She sighed and tried to remember what had happened. Her brain felt like mush and the only reason she knew her own name was because Sadie had said it. She couldn’t recall falling to the ground, or even getting punched, all she could see was George’s worried expression looming over her. 

Tears stung the edges of her eyes. What a  _ git _ .

It was all just some long con to get her to look stupid. All of the friendly banter and joke business talk had been to get her back. Of course, they’d been upset about her ruining the toffee, and then the trial run of the darkness powder. She’d put a target on her back as one of the only people they hadn’t pranked yet, and then given them a reason for some kind of stupid revenge that they’d made extra sweet by lulling her into a false sense of friendship.

They never wanted to be her friend, or for her to join their stupid business, all the assistant stuff was just an extra twist of the knife. 

He was bored and she was his only option for entertainment. He hated Adrian Pucey and bribed Lee to get away from him. He wanted to use her potions to launch his business. He was just trying to get what he wants. George Weasley was not a friend. 

George Weasley just wanted to hurt her. 

Tears ran freely down her cheeks but she didn’t bother to wipe them away. 

“Give me a mirror,” she sniffled to Sadie, her words quivered in her throat as she stifled a sob. 

“Vi…it’s really not that bad,” Sadie gripped her hand tighter and glanced around with a panicked expression. “And besides, Madam Pomfrey said she’ll have something ready tonight to get the swelling down.”

She glared at her friend through tears and watched her throat bob.

“For the record, I think you look badass,” Sadie whispered, reaching in her bag before hesitantly setting the mirror on the bed. 

Violet slowly brought the mirror up and stared into the reflective surface. Only a sliver of her eye was visible. The slit of her dark blue iris was eerily prominent and surrounded by her now bloodshot eye. She winced and refocused on the skin around her eye that started as a deep purple on her lid and grew out into shades of blue and green before ending in a sickly yellow on her nose, cheekbone, and eyebrow, protruding out from the rest of her face in a swollen bulge. 

In short, she looked terrible. Not even an eye patch would cover the damage, as it could not fit over the bump in the first place, let alone cover the extensive damage. 

“I’m going to kill him,” she whispered to herself. Sadie just nodded with a worried look on her face and quickly snatched the mirror away. 

She brought her head back down to the pillow and tried to hold back the rest of the sobs clawing at her throat, as Madam Pomfrey appeared at the end of the bed to tell her that she couldn’t leave until tomorrow morning, just to be sure there was no concussion. 

Sadie disappeared shortly after, for her afternoon classes, leaving her with her own thoughts and anger. 

She silently wept until her spiteful tears stopped flowing and dried in a salty sheet on her cheeks. Anger, disappointment, sadness, and dread weighed down her chest and made it difficult to breathe. 

She couldn’t help but feel angry at herself. She should’ve never let her guard down in the first place, and locked her train cabin door as soon as she heard their voices. Even if she couldn’t have switched into a different potions or charms class, she should’ve just bit her tongue, and maybe they would’ve gotten bored and left her alone. 

No. No, this wasn’t  _ her _ fault. 

This was George’s fault.

He had purposefully lulled her into a false sense of security, even friendship, only to pull the rug out from underneath her at the exact right moment when she let her defenses down. 

Tears came to her eyes again. She must have looked so foolish to him, and the rest of her peers, laying on the ground with a pummeled face. He’d probably ran to find Fred as soon as he’d dropped her off to tell him all about how she’d finally fallen for something. Maybe they’d even come back to laugh at her bruised face while she was still unconscious. 

This prank coming from Fred would’ve made sense, even though she probably wouldn’t have accepted anything from him in the first place. Deep down though, she thought that George had been serious when he’d called her his friend. Bile clawed at her throat. She’d even considered that he could’ve liked her as more than a friend. 

She forfeited the struggle with her tears and let them flow freely again, ignoring the intense sting from her black eye.

Sadie came back after dinner and fussed over her tear-stained face and shirt, mumbling about how she would kill George and all the other witnesses so there was nothing to worry about before Madam Pomfrey shooed her off for the night.

Her head was too exhausted, and throbbing violently for any dreams that night, the only thing she saw was George’s face, and that was nightmare enough. 

___

Sadie woke her up the next morning with a comfortable change of clothes, some sunglasses, and a sympathetic smile. 

“Pomfrey says I can take you back,” she whispered. “Hey, that stuff she put on you worked, you don’t even look that bad today.”

Violet caught a glance of her reflection in the window and knew she was lying. She stared at the bed as she got dressed, half wishing that she never had to leave and face the school ever again when a small bunch of white flowers on her bedside table caught her attention. 

“Sades, did you put that there?” 

Sadie picked up the small vine and handed it to her. “Nope,” she mused. 

She ran her thumb over the small white petals. Maybe Hermione had heard and left it for her? Surely though she would’ve woken her up to say something? The sweet, sharp scent of peppermint stopped her mind from wondering and she froze. 

A peppermint flower. 

It was one of the peppermint flowers from the recipe for Amortentia. She gasped a little, hoping Sadie hadn’t heard, and dropped the flower to the floor, before crushing it with her shoe. 

He had come to laugh at her. And even worse, he wanted her to know about it. 

George Weasley wasn’t her friend, but she never expected him to be cruel. She stared down at the crushed flower and fought back more tears as Sadie lead her out the door.

She leaned into her roommate for support as they made their way back down to the dungeons. Her legs were basically jello filled and useless but luckily, Sadie was unusually strong for her size and practically carried her all the way down. 

Fortunately, most of the students who’d normally be in the halls, ready to stare and whisper at her purple face, were at breakfast, so she only winced at a few glances of shock before they safely reached her bed.

She let a few more tears fall onto her pillow before deciding that she was in fact, more angry than sad. Even so, she was unable to come up with a solid revenge plot before sleep carried her off. 

___

She barely left her room for the entirety of the week, except to use the bathroom and to meet Sadie in the hall when she came by before or after classes to bring her food and looks of sympathy. 

When she wasn’t sleeping, she was crying, and when she wasn’t crying, she was plotting the downfall of George Weasley by way of a cruel, painful, merciless prank. So far, she’d ruled out murdering his family, starting with Fred of course, and setting fire to his bed. But she had confidence that she’d think of something perfect soon. 

On Saturday morning, Sadie brought her a pile of homework from the classes she’d missed.

“Listen, Vi, I don’t have to go if you don’t want me to,” Sadie said, helping her pat some of the ointment Madam Pomfrey had made on her now slightly less purple eye. 

“No, I’m fine. You should just go, I have to finish all of that anyway,” she assured her. 

“Alright well, I’ll be back from Hogsmeade around six so we can have dinner together.”

“Sades I really don’t think I can face everybody yet.”

“Nonsense, you’re definitely looking good enough to leave,” she said from halfway out the door. “Besides, if anyone says anything I will murder them!”

She smiled. The raging, violent tendencies of her best friend had never brought her so much comfort before. 

A few hours later, unable to bring herself to accomplish anything in her room, and frustrated with her intense isolation, she got dressed, gathered her things, and headed to the library in the hopes that everyone else was at Hogsmeade. 

Almost all of the desks and couches wedged between the entrance and her alcove were empty. Walking through the rows of quiet books sorting themselves, bathed in the warm midday glow seeping through windows high above her, was the happiest she’d been all week.

She’d almost forgot about her current miserable state when she finally stepped into the alcove until movement from Hermione’s desk in their corner brought her back to reality. Confused by the lack of curly hair, she stopped walking and watched the figure lift its head up at the sound of her footsteps. 

Red hair appeared from behind a book and she watched toffee eyes do a double-take. 

They just stared at each other, waiting for the other one to move. Her sudden heaving breaths did nothing to help calm her down.

The anger she’d been desperately trying to control swelled in her chest, and clawed at her throat, incessantly trying to unleash itself onto the redhead staring at her with a mixture of surprise and concern. He’d come here to gloat but she wouldn’t let him gape at her any longer.

Suddenly he stood up and opened his mouth to say something but before he could take a step, she turned on her heel and stormed back down the hall and out the door. She heard barreling footsteps behind her as she ran but George waited until they were both out of the library to yell. 

“Violet,” he raised his voice from a few paces behind her in the empty hall. “Violet please, it was an accident.”

Yeah right.

“Stay away from me,” she yelled without turning to look at him. It was difficult to hold back tears and jog at the same time but she managed for a little while before George caught up and grabbed her arm. 

“Violet, please stop,” he huffed. “I’m sorry, I…” 

She whipped around and stared at him, letting him get a good look at her purple, swollen, tear-streaked face.

She ripped her arm from his grasp and hissed, “Don’t touch me.”

He had won. He had bested her in whatever childish game of whits or chicken that he was playing, so why did he need to gloat? She stood defiantly in front of him and glared at his shocked face.

He opened his mouth to speak again but his face contorted into something that she couldn’t quite understand until his lips twitched upward slightly. 

For fucks sake. He was trying not to laugh. 

She let the anger she’d been trying to quell break free, feeling tears flowing down her face. 

“Do you think this is funny,” she screamed, pointing to her face. “You got what you wanted asshole! Are you happy now?”

“No… no, of course, I’m not happy Vi,” he said, controlling his slight smile and furrowing his brow in a mixture of confusion and shock at her outburst. “I’m sorry… I just wasn’t expecting it to look that…violet.” 

She stared at him in horror. Even now, he was trying to tell a joke. Not only had he hurt her physically, but as hard as it was for her to admit, he’d hurt her emotionally as well. 

Before he could say another word, she pulled her wand from her pocket and pointed it at him. He stumbled back a few steps and raised his arms towards her slightly. 

“Violet, I’m so sorry,” he pleaded. “I know you’re mad but I just want to make sure that you’re ok.” 

“What is wrong with you?” She fumed at his concerned expression. “It’s over! I get it! You don’t need to pretend to be my friend anymore! Just laugh at me for failing for your stupid prank and leave me alone!”

She searched his face for any glint of satisfaction but only found the same earnest expression he’d given her at the Gryffindor table. Not that it mattered. She no longer had to rely on his eyes for information, he’d told her loud and clear what he thought of her. 

“Vi, I’m not pretending anything, please. What can I do to show you how sorry I am,” he pleaded again. 

“Don’t call me that,” she roared.

“I’m so so sorry,” he stammered, his face falling further into sadness. “Please tell me what I can do.”

She ignored the strain in his voice and glistening water in his eyes. He should really go into acting, the performance was almost believable. She flicked her wand and performed a non-verbal spell out of anger. Her mind was a bit clouded so she was just as shocked as he was to see an enormous snake fly out of the tip of her wand, landing on the floor between them. She lowered her wand and watched the snake uncoil to take up the entire width of the hallway, and hiss at George. 

“Don’t ever speak to me again,” she spat before turning and sprinting back to her dorm room, ignoring George’s yells. His voice calling for her, echoing through the halls sounded familiar but her sobs made it impossible to concentrate. 


	11. P.P.S I'm Sorry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY, a dash of spice! Enjoy and thank you so much for reading.

After hearing about her altercation with George, Sadie hadn’t made her go to the Great Hall for any meals and had even pestered some of the house-elves in the kitchen for a few of her favorites. She remained in the dungeon the rest of the weekend, attempting to complete homework in the common room without receiving too many snide comments from Malfoy and his crew about getting beat up by a Weasley and slathering her black eye with healing cream. It didn’t really look any better, color-wise, but the swelling had gone down and her face was back to looking a normal size. 

The satisfaction she’d felt after conjuring the snake at George had disappeared and left a pounding headache and hollow feeling of dread in its wake. Despite all her attempts, she hadn’t been able to think of a feasible revenge plot for the twins, and seeing as it was Sunday night, she had officially run out of time. She’d have no choice but to see him again tomorrow. In class, he’d get to stare at her face as much as he wanted, and giggle along with the rest of her classmates. The jokes and jabs he could make about her screwed up face were endless and despite his performance outside of the library, she didn’t believe that he was as innocent as he portrayed himself to be. Every time she closed her eyes his pleading expression and furrowed brow appeared, reminding her of all the reasons she desperately wanted his apology, to be honest. Hating him, even now when she had more than a good enough reason to, felt like a reflex. He’d been slowly breaking down her barriers, and she hadn’t even noticed until it was too late. The realization stung worse than her eye and brought all her anger back up to the surface. 

She tried to distract herself from the terrifying inevitable by absentmindedly doodling on a piece of parchment and brainstorming some last-minute revenge when Sadie burst through the door after dinner, with a look of rage on her face. The entrance made her jump and before she could ask what was wrong, her roommate slammed an envelope down onto the desk. 

“I cannot believe that idiot Weasley had the balls to come up to me at dinner,” she huffed, waving her arms in exasperation. “I called him every name under the sun, don’t you worry! Vi, you should’ve seen the look on his face when Anastas had to hold me back so I wouldn’t hit him!”

“He… wait what?” She felt her chest constrict at the thought of interacting with him in any way, even by letter. “What did he say?”

“He asked me to give that to you but I didn’t let him get another word in,” she seethed. “I swear, if this is another prank, I will fucking murder him.”

Words escaped her as she stared down at the canary yellow envelope with her name written on top in jagged black letters. She tuned out Sadie’s account of her attempted assault on George and flattened it out against her thigh, opening it to reveal a note inside. Her heartfelt like it was about to pop out of her chest as she read the terrible handwriting.

_Violet,_

_I shouldn’t have tried out that product on you, I don’t know what I was thinking. Fred said it would only mark someone’s eye with dark powder, I didn’t know it was going to explode like that. More evidence that we need a sound mind like yours to assist us. If you want to punch me in the face I completely understand and submit to your needs willingly. I’m sorry. Please find it in your heart to forgive me._

_I stirred the Amortentia anti-clockwise every day this week. I think it’ll be ready for the final ingredients on Wednesday, but I’m sure you already knew that._

_The snake you threw at me is living happily with Hagrid, I thought you might like to know. Also, I’ve named him Fig, for his sweet disposition and color._

_See you in class. Sorry again._

_Your friend, George Weasley_

_P.S. Fred told me not to blame him but it’s his fault_   
_P.P.S Violet really is your color._   
_P.P.P.S That was rubbish, sorry, goodbye._

She stared down at the note, expressionless, reading it twice before surrendering the paper to Sadie who was desperately craning her neck to read it. 

Your friend. 

Sadie stuffed it back into her hands and she read it again and again, being sure that she had understood it correctly. He said it was an accident? Just a product malfunction? 

Before she could gather her thoughts, a giggle escaped her lips and Sadie looked down at her like she was insane. 

“Godric, that’s lame. I hope you know that he’s full of shit,” she said, retreating back to her own side of the room without another word.

The paper smelled slightly of cinnamon and it clouded the rest of her senses. Was there really no revenge plot? She remembered his sorrowful eyes and desperate pleas just as she’d raised her wand at his head and felt her heart sink. 

He really had looked apologetic. 

Friends. 

Oh no, she thought, the flower she’d crushed with her shoe. Maybe he hadn’t visited her in the hospital wing to see her in shambles but rather, to make sure that she was ok. The flower was as an olive branch but her cynical mind had taken it as a villain's calling card. 

She rested her head in her hands and tried to work through the remaining fragments of anger in her chest. 

Who knew how many days he’d sat in the library waiting for her to show up, just so that he could apologize. He knew that she would be angry and yet, he’d tried anyway. 

She caressed his signature at the bottom of the letter and bit her lip. He probably had to ask a few Slytherins in order to find out that Sadie was her roommate, and it surely took a good amount of bravery to confront her.

The place in her mind, reserved for grudges was suddenly penetrated by the thought that possibly, the evil man she’d built in her head might only be just that — in her head.

She thought back to the successful pranks she’d seen them pull. No matter what it was, they always saved the most brutal for Filch, or bullies like Malfoy. Everyone else got their hair color changed, stuff stolen, or other momentarily inconveniencing tricks. 

If she’d applied an ounce of thought to the incident, she’d have realized much sooner that it didn’t add up. Her prejudices against him were lying in wait, for any excuse to hate him but in all actuality, she didn’t think that she did, at least not anymore. 

It was against every fiber of her being but…she believed him. 

She pressed her fingers to her temples and tried to physically massage her thoughts into making sense and mentally kicked herself for being so unable to take a joke. Of course, the black eye wasn’t very funny, and she definitely couldn’t let him off the hook for the mass amount of pain she’d been in, but maybe he didn’t deserve all of the maniacal things she’d been plotting in her head. 

Violet really is your color. 

The words wrung in her head as if he was saying it and she felt a shiver down her spine. It was difficult to know why she felt so ready to forgive him but there was something in her gut telling her to. She’d never felt particularly compelled to be so lenient with someone before and it scared her. It went against all odds because she’d been under the impression that as soon as George hurt her, her walls would shoot back up, as strong as ever but they were almost completely gone and forgotten. 

She giggled again, stifling the sound with her hand so Sadie couldn’t hear. If she was sane, she would’ve crumpled the paper and thrown it away, committing to a life long hatred of the redhead, but she couldn’t. It would’ve been easier but…she couldn’t. She read the letter over, and over again until she could hear his voice saying it. 

Despite her better judgment, she was kind of relieved that he wasn’t the evil man she’d built in her head. But also extremely stressed out because now, she had no clue what kind of a man he was. 

Regardless, she definitely wasn’t going to go back to normal tomorrow but something told her that he’d try a few more things to make it up to her, and eventually, she’d have no choice but to give in. 

______

_The Death Eaters surrounded her family once again. She desperately grabbed at her father, mother, and sister but instead of their familiar figures behind her, she turned to see that this time, she was franticly grabbing at the hand of George Weasley, desperate to protect him._

The dull pain in her eye woke her before the nightmare could and once again, she stared up at the canopy and dreaded the Monday ahead of her. She shook her head to get rid of the image of George being stalked by Death Eaters and took a moment to miss when her terrible dreams had kindly left him out of the fearful equation. 

She stared into the mirror as she got dressed, taking in the reality that her peers were going to see her with the garish purple mark on her face. The letter last night had quelled her fear that she’d been victim to an elaborate revere plot, but staring at the bruise now, it wasn’t enough of an apology to get him completely back into her good graces, or wherever he had been before. 

It was, however, a good start. 

She waited until the very last second before class started to leave the common room and walk to class, feeling the knot in her stomach grow tighter and tighter with every slow step she took. It conveniently combined with the butterflies in her chest to make her torso feel on the brink of explosion. 

Snape caught her in the hallway to assure her that Mr. Weasley had served most deserving detentions all of last week. He also offered to move her to a different table but she declined, stating that she wished to remain cordial and lead by example. He hesitated but accepted her reasoning as Slytherin pride and walked into the classroom in front of her. 

She took a deep breath and followed him inside, holding her head high. She ignored the almost instantaneous snickering and kept her eyes fixated on her chair. 

Before she could slide into her row, Adrian grabbed the fabric of her sweater. 

“You alright?” He whispered, glaring past her at George who she could feel watching her closely. 

She offered him a weak smile. “I’m fine, thanks.”

Adrian nodded and let the fabric around her wrist go but didn’t stop glaring at her lab partner. She turned and avoided George’s eyes, only speaking when she whispered ‘excuse me’ so that she could pass. 

A small white flower on the desk caught her attention as she sat down. It was the same one that had been on her bedside table in the hospital wing. She picked it up and turned to George, whose eyes were still glued to her, and raised an eyebrow. He smiled and nodded sheepishly and opened his mouth to say something but she turned to the front and cut him off.

Snape continued his lecture on love potions, focusing on the very last ingredient of Amortentia. She took notes as he explained the differences between using blood and hair from the brewer or the brewer’s intended lover and why the potion was so dangerous. They sat silently, unmoving with a muggy air of uncertainty around them. 

When Snape finally dismissed the class, she pushed past George’s chair before he could say anything, to inspect their Amortentia on the storage shelves near the front. She felt bad for abandoning it and was prepared to cringe after lifting the silk cloth, but it looked perfect. 

He had been tending to it. 

“Did I screw it up,” George whispered from behind her. She sighed and turned around. 

He was much closer than she’d anticipated so she had to crane her neck to look at his face. His eyes were hopeful for a response but she just couldn’t give him one. It wasn’t that she was angry, but rather that she just didn’t know where to go from here. It was a relief to know that he hadn’t meant to hurt her but her pride locked a stoic expression onto her face and glued her mouth shut. There was nothing either of them could say to quell the tension so she searched his face once more and then brushed past him to leave. 

“You forgot your flower,” he called after her before she could make it to the door. 

She stopped and turned back around, avoiding his eyes. She glanced at the flower and realized that he hadn’t gotten to see what she’d done to the last one. She pulled her wand from her robes and flicked it wordlessly towards the flower and they both watched as it caught fire and burned to ash, scorching the table. 

“Violet,” George whispered, but she was already out the door. 

As she had suspected, she’d missed nothing of importance in Ancient Runes and continued with the guided translations in her book. 

After class, she stepped foot into the Great Hall for the first time in nearly a week. The boisterous racket and mingling scents nearly toppled her over after six days underground. The cold meals that Sadie had been sneaking out for her so she didn’t have to face all of her peers had sustained her but weren’t nearly as satisfying as a fresh, hot meal. No one seemed to be taking a particularly keen interest in her or her face so she felt minimally anxious as she sat at the end of the Slytherin table. 

She hid her face behind a book and devoured the lunch in front of her, ignoring the pain underneath her still purple eye, intensifying with each vigorous chew. 

“The Princess Bride, what’s that about?”

She jumped at the proximity of the female voice and looked up in a panic. Her eyes searched for a moment before landing on Ginny Weasley, who was staring at her from the nearest Gryffindor bench.

She stared back at the redhead and lowered the book completely in the hopes that she would notice the wound inflicted by her brother and leave her alone. 

The young witch regarded her with curious eyes and didn’t seem deterred in the slightest. She scooted over the thin aisle and sat across from her at the table, smiling broadly and gesturing to the book again, waiting for an answer. 

“It’s just a muggle book,” she mumbled, suspicious of the sudden interest. 

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Well it still has a plot doesn’t it?”

She shrugged and eyed the girl with surprise. Ginny seemed to be much bolder than her brothers. They were outgoing and extroverted sure, but not necessarily as self-assured as their younger sister seemed to be. She’d been dreading seeing any red hair at lunch but this didn’t seem to be a part of any coordinated hi-jinx.

“I suppose you’re right,” she admitted cautiously. “It’s about soulmates and their quest to find each other after being separated. It’s a lot funnier and action-packed than it sounds but that’s technically the main plot.”

Ginny held out her hand and she dog eared the page she’d been reading before sliding it across the table towards the curious witch. 

“It looks good,” she said, regarding the cover with intrigued eyes and tracing the gold cover lettering with a finger. “Could I borrow it sometime?”

“Take it,” she stuttered with a little too much excitement. “I’ve read it nearly a dozen times.” She couldn’t help the grin on her face. No one at school had ever taken interest in her muggle books before. Maybe the girl was humoring her for her brother’s sake but she didn’t care. Good conversations about books were rare and she would take anything she could get. 

“Really?” Ginny’s smile widened, clutching the book to her chest. 

“Yes of course, as long as you promise to discuss it with me when you’ve finished. I’ve never gotten to talk about it with anyone besides my mum.”

Ginny giggled. “You have a deal.”

She was taken aback by Ginny’s sudden interest in her but just like with Hermione, her quiet confidence and alert eyes made the sister sized hole in her heart shrink a little. She’d written to her parents over the weekend to tell them about her black eye and even at the height of her anger, she’d omitted George from the equation, opting to tell them that she had fallen flat on her face instead. Her parents were very concerned but at the bottom of the letter, her sister had written something along the lines of, “it takes a special talent to be able to give yourself a black eye.” Looking at Ginny now, she imagined that they’d get along quite well.

“You remind me of my sister,” she blurted clumsily, overcome with homesickness. “I mean she’s only ten, and she’s blonde but you kind of act alike,” she continued, trying to regain some composure. 

“You’re lucky you’ve got a sister,” Ginny smiled, staring down at the book with an expression that she couldn’t decipher. “She’ll be coming to Hogwarts then?”

“Yes, next year.”

“Does she look like you?”

“A little, but you might not know we were sisters unless we were standing next to each other. Not like you and your brothers,” she said, offering up a smile so her young friend could tell that she was teasing. 

“You’re telling me. I can never escape them, not even in the mirror,” she said, rolling her eyes and returning the smile.   
“Putting up with them all the time must get exhausting,” she mused. 

“Eh sometimes, but they aren’t so bad,” she responded with a smile. “Built-in friends, and all that.”

“I guess so,” she admitted hesitantly. “But they are quite annoying.”

She watched Ginny with curiosity and the younger witch suddenly went quiet, brushing her fingers through the pages of the book and squinting her eyes like she was thinking hard. Much like her older brother, she couldn’t hide her thoughtfulness. 

“So, does the couple find their way back to each other,” she asked quietly, raising her eyebrows and glancing back up. 

“Well, I don’t want to spoil it for you,” she replied. 

Ginny beamed. “Just a hint then.”

“Fine. Let’s see…um the journey isn’t easy, but it’s worth it,” she mused. “For true love."

“So they are able to reconcile…and get back together,” Ginny said slowly, a strange knowing expression appearing on her face. 

“Yes but that’s only because it’s true love,” she replied plainly, letting silence fill the space between them and trying to ignore what she thought the redhead might be getting at. If she had been sent to meddle, she was good at hiding it, either way, this conversation wasn’t going to change how slowly she intended to forgive George. 

“Something on your mind,” Ginny asked coyly, breaking her stream of consciousness, her lips spreading into a smug smile. Suddenly, she looked a lot more like her brothers. 

“Alright,” she mumbled dismissively, gesturing towards the Gryffindor table. “Get back to your lunch, will you?”

“Sure thing, Violet,” she said, bouncing up from the bench and rejoining the sea of red and gold behind her. “Thanks for the book!”

She shook her head at the girl’s quick exit and couldn’t help but be impressed by her cleverness. She was definitely sent to meddle. 

Violet wandered back to the library after lunch and found Hermione in her usual spot behind a stack of books, with at least three pencils sticking out of her hair from various attempts at keeping it out of her face. The witch briefly fussed over her purple eye, telling her about a few charms that might make it go away faster and throwing out a couple of mild suggestions on how to get the twins back, before hugging her goodbye and rushing off to a History of Muggles exam. 

Without Hermione’s foot-tapping or incoherent whispers, as she read, the alcove was silent. 

She stretched out in the velvet chair and absentmindedly drummed her fingers against the armrests, wiggling her toes to the nonexistent beat, and watching the moving fragments of light stream through the gothic window to her right. 

She turned her head and stared past her reflection and out onto the courtyard below, watching the leaves from far off trees swirl through the air, and shadows of clouds high above, crawl across the pavement.

Tiredness tugged at her eyelids and she didn’t fight it, curling up a little to rest her head against the plush fabric. Only ten minutes, she promised herself, and then Herbology homework. 

_Running, running, running, and then caught. A Death Eater grabbed her arm and yanked her away from her sister. Olivia screamed for her but she couldn’t shake off his grip no matter how much she kicked and clawed and screamed._

“Hey… hey.” 

She jolted awake as the figure from her dreams who’d had an iron lock on her arm, was still gripping her when she opened her eyes in the library. She opened her mouth to scream but its hand covered her mouth and pushed her back against the velvet char. 

“Hey Vi, it’s me, calm down, it’s just me.”

Suddenly, George came into view standing above her and the cry for help dissolved in her throat. She stared at him wide-eyed for a second before her body practically shut down. The nightmare and adrenaline had exhausted her. For one terrifying moment, she’d thought it had been real, that Death Eaters had finally come for her and found her completely helpless. He opened his mouth and said something else but her heartbeat echoed in her ears, drowning out the words. 

Conscious, she chanted to herself. She had to remain conscious. 

George must have sensed her panic because he let go over her arm and knelt in front of the chair, with his hands on either shoulder. She fell forward into him, flattening her chest against his. His cheek gently caressed hers as her chin had nowhere else to go but in the crook of his shoulder and neck. 

This was wrong. 

The voice of better judgment screamed at her to run out of his arms and back into the safety of not acknowledging him. There were too many reasons to leave than she could count; they were incompatible, someone might see, he had hurt her, and she hadn’t forgiven him yet, but none of them made a stronger argument than the feeling of his skin touching hers. 

She steadied her breathing and focused on the strong, rough hand reaching up to gently cup her face, counting the slow circles its thumb was rubbing into her jaw. The butterflies were instantaneous and accompanied by an embarrassing heat in her abdomen. He’d never touched her before except for the occasional brush of his knee, the accidental hand on her thigh, and of course, when he’d carried her to the hospital wing, despite the memory being absent. The intimacy defeated all her efforts to regain a sense of calm. 

“Oh Godric, you scared me,” she whispered, relaxing into his body, absentmindedly burrowing her face into his shoulder. Against her better judgment, she didn’t move away from him and let his tenderness lull her back to reality.

His other arm responded to her instantly and wrapped around her waist, pulling her tight against his body. She let her eyes open again and held her breath as his nose brushed against her cheek. 

She winced at the pressure on her black eye and heard him draw in a sharp breath. 

All she could see was red hair. This was real. It was really him. 

“Sorry,” George whispered against her skin. 

Her heart nearly stopped as he tenderly brushed his lips against her cheekbone before burying his face in her hair. She tried desperately to convince herself that it was too quick to be a kiss. There was no conceivable way that George Weasley wanted to kiss her. And even if he did, she was much too smart to let him. 

Let alone, enjoy it. 

She felt less dizzy as her breathing returned to normal and her nightmare faded into a dream. She imagined what it would be like to be here, in his arms, without a care in the world but knew deep down that she couldn’t — shouldn’t let herself be so comfortable with him. 

She counted down from ten in her head, promising that on one, she would shove him to the ground and leave but the reality of the situation kept pestering her to stay.

George Weasley was holding her. 

And she was letting him. 

Before she could count to 10 the third time, she felt him open his mouth against her neck, causing an electrifying shudder to flow down her spine.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated gently, lips lightly caressing her skin. 

“It’s ok,” she whispered breathlessly. “You’re here.” It came out of her mouth, as a sigh of relief and she nearly winced at the tenderness in her voice. Perhaps, deep down, she was relieved that it was him. His comforting demeanor was further proof that he didn’t want to hurt her in all the ways that she’d feared. He could’ve let her scream, scared her further, let her drop to the floor, or a myriad of other, harmful and careless reactions…but he didn’t. His job was done, whatever it was, and she knew he could feel her return to normal, and yet, he showed no signs of letting go.

“I…um… I talked to Ginny and thought I would try to apologize again.”

His timid words washed over her but she could barely even register their meaning. Her skin was burning beneath his hot breath on her neck. She lifted a hand and pushed a stray strand of hair that was tickling her nose, back behind his ear. It was softer than she thought it would be. 

Just like him.

“Oh,” she whispered. She brushed her fingers through his hair again, and again, caressing the edge of his ear with each stroke, and swung her other arm around his shoulder. He inhaled sharply as her single touch turned into a desperate rhythm. 

She hated herself for the longing that throbbed in her chest, getting worse and worse every time she touched him. After nearly a week of not seeing or speaking to him, his proximity was overwhelming and intoxicating. 

“I didn’t mean to scare you. It looked like you were having a nightmare….I uh just didn’t want you to fall out of the chair.”

He dropped his hand from her jaw and wrapped it possessively around the other side of her waist, nuzzling his face into the crook of her neck, hugging her close. He squeezed her so tight she thought her lungs would give out. It was as if he was afraid she would run away. It was a valid concern but she doubted that even an actual Death Eater attack would be a worthy competition for her attention at the moment. 

She tried to remember that she was still a little angry at him but between the dream and his breath caressing her chest, she felt completely disoriented. His body felt so strong and warm that she couldn’t recall why she was upset in the first place. She could barely even remember that he was the same person she’d spent being annoyed at for almost five years. 

“I was having a nightmare,” she admitted quietly, forfeiting any self-control and running her fingers along his neck. “Thank you for um… waking me up.”

Tomorrow she could work on the jaded exterior that she’d spent years cultivating, but for now, she would surrender to the strange urge to touch someone she hadn’t even really considered a friend. 

His lips parted against her collarbone like he was going to say something and she waited on bated breath to know what he was thinking, afraid that he’d ask her to let go or get off, but he didn’t. Instead, he puckered his lips slightly and placed a hesitant soft kiss onto her skin. 

Her mind whirred, practically unable to process what was happening. 

George Weasley did want to kiss her, in fact, he just had. 

He caught an incredibly sensitive spot, and she stifled the moan as the burning from her navel traveled up through her chest and lapped at every inch of her skin. He’d caused a forest fire within her with just the slightest of touches, she shuddered at the thought of what else he could get her to feel, and where. 

He silently and slowly pulled away from her skin so that their faces rested cheek to cheek, ensuring that neither could look the other in the eye. The hesitation, anticipation, yearning, electricity was too much to ignore. He’d made the first move and there was still time to reject him completely and run away, but she couldn’t. She heard him stop breathing and knew that he was waiting for her to accept or deny the proposition of his kiss.

Her admittance of affection came less elegantly, a second later. 

“George,” she whimpered against his ear. It was the only word she could muster or even think of and the tone of her voice surprised her, as she hadn’t meant for it to come out so sensual, guttural, or full of longing. She felt him finally exhale against her ear, equally shocked at the lewd noise. 

What was supposed to happen next? Her heart was hammering in her chest, and surely he could feel it through their school uniforms. They sat frozen, unsure of where to go now that their feelings were no longer a secret. It felt like hours, but it was only a second until George moved again, leaning back down to her neck, to repeat his previous action. 

As soon as his lips grazed her pulse point, she moaned. It was ridiculous and utterly embarrassing but she couldn’t help it. 

Tomorrow. Tomorrow she would put her walls back up, and keep him out. 

With that promise, she eagerly wrapped her arms around his neck and clawed at his back, anything to get him closer, uncaring about how desperate she seemed. 

This wasn’t something that friends did. This wasn’t something that potions partners did either, but she fought off her common sense and buried herself into his hair.

He matched her movement without hesitation, gripping her waist tighter and pressing them together in synchronized desperation and relief. He pushed his face deeper into her neck and the hands around her waist dropped slightly to find her hips. She felt him groan against her skin as his lips moved across the top of her collarbone. 

George Weasley was kissing her, actually kissing her. His lips caressed any exposed skin hungrily and the sensation brought back her dizziness.

“Are you still angry,” George mumbled. She could feel him smile as he left wet spots on her skin, each one drawing sinful noises from her mouth.

“Incredibly,” she whispered into his ear, making him break his pattern of kisses to moan into her neck.

The hands, on her hips, moved lower, toying with the bottom of her skirt. Again, she could feel his hesitation. 

“Let me make it up to you,” he sighed. A question, a plea.

In a moment of pure adrenaline and lust, she responded wordlessly by lifting her legs from the chair and wrapped them around his waist. He fumbled slightly from the momentum and dropped his propped knee to the ground before pressing his hips into hers. 

She gasped as his pelvis made full contact with hers. He was hard.

Surely she was still in her dream. 

He bucked his hips into her slightly, readjusting himself to be as close as possible. She saw stars as his erection pressed freely against her core in just a way that made her curl her toes and arch her back. She tipped her head back and bit her lip for fear of being unable to contain the moans that now threatened to unleash onto the library’s peace. He sensed her pleasure and pressed himself against her again, and again, in an unyielding rhythm, all the while, nipping, and sucking her neck, gorging himself on any exposed skin. 

He groaned in frustration as the collar of her school jumper kept a strict perimeter, with little access to skin further down her chest. In one movement, he pressed her legs apart, breaking their knot around him, and hopped to his feet. For the first time, she met his eyes.

Wild. 

Hungry. 

Scheming. 

“Come with me,” he said breathlessly, reaching a hand down to help her up. It wasn’t quite a beg, but she could hear the longing in his voice. He was afraid. Afraid that, for her, it was only a momentary lapse of judgment and not a culmination of a month-long build-up of tension. He was right, of course, but those were the problems of tomorrow. 

She reached up with little hesitation and grabbed his outstretched hand when a voice broke their connection. 

“Violet do you — oh hello, George!”

She ripped her hand out of George’s and flew as deep into the couch as she could, whipping her head up towards the entrance, where she saw Hermione and Harry standing with their eyes wide and mouths open. 

“Oh um, hi,” she sputtered before glancing nervously at a stone-faced George above her. 

“Hey guys,” George said coldly. 

She frantically grabbed her books and bag. “Sorry, I was uh just leaving!”

This couldn’t be happening, she thought frantically. When Hermione had left, she’d still been angry at George, and now they were holding hands and staring deeply into each other’s eyes. 

Hermione looked at her inquisitively but she just smiled back as inconspicuously as she could and brushed past George without so much as a nod goodbye. 

“Sorry, erm see you later Hermione, okay bye,” she said a little too loudly, running past the Gryffindors, ignoring Harry’s instantaneous taunts towards George about telling Fred, Ron, and Ginny. 

She darted out down the main aisle, careful to listen for any frantic footsteps behind her but she heard none. Hopefully, Harry and Hermione weren’t interrogating George, and if they were, she prayed that he knew to keep his mouth shut, although doubted it.  
She finally slowed down as she reached the main hall and tried to fully understand what had just happened. 

The memory came flooding back and she could’ve bashed her head against the wall in frustration. What the fuck was that? That was not the slow burn arc that she’d planned. She was going to ignore him for at least another week before even allowing him to grovel for her forgiveness. 

Her neck and chest tingled from where his lips and been, clouding her mind. The phantom feeling of hips pressing into hers caused her cheeks to flush and her body to overheat. Now, what was she going to do? How would she pretend to hate him when she had turned to putty in his hands the second he’d touched her? She took a moment to thank the heavens that tomorrow was Tuesday, so she wouldn’t have to see him again until Wednesday. 

Oh no. Wednesday.

Their Amortentia would be finished on Wednesday and the last thing she needed was one on one time with him brewing a love potion. 

She felt hot and dizzy, even as she flew down the stairs into the dungeon. The cold air normally hit her like a ton of bricks as soon as she stepped foot underground but it casually brushed her burning skin today. This was all happening too fast. 

She flopped down on her bed and pressed her hands to the sides of her face, thankful for Sadies absence.

Her mind flashed back to Harry’s words about telling the rest of the Weasley’s. If he did, then she would never hear the end of it from Ginny, and Fred would tell the entire school by lunch tomorrow. Then she’d have to explain herself to Sadie and receive further incredulous glances from her peers. It wouldn’t be a lie to tell everyone that nothing happened but then again, it wouldn’t be the truth either. 

She supposed that the answer was easy. She would just have to pretend like nothing happened. If he spoke to her about it she would ignore him like she had today in potions and maybe he would catch her drift. And if word got out, she would lie fiercely and often until everyone thought it was another Weasley prank. 

That was easy enough but she couldn’t help but wonder what he would say about her if he did talk. The looming question, of course, was why had he even held her in the first place? Let alone kissed her. There was an obvious answer but she wouldn’t let herself think it or entertain the notion that she felt the same.

She rolled over and laid facedown on her pillow. The feathers molded to her face and she let it deplete her senses and anxious thoughts for a moment. 

George Weasley had kissed her neck. She had hated him a few days ago and yet, he’d held her in his arms and whispered calming sentiments in her ear because she was afraid and vulnerable. She had been sure that they would never be friends but he’d held her waist and kissed her neck….and she’d let him. Not only that but she’d taken his hand when he offered it and was entirely willing to do so much more. 


	12. Weasley Wizard Wheezes

She tried to distract herself in Herbology the next morning by being deeply engaged in the lesson. Much to the chagrin of her classmates, she asked every question under the sun about their lesson on Whomping Willow’s, particularly focusing on the debate about whether the trees had any sort of unique personalities to them. Professor Sprout fell for her bait and class was still in full swing when the bell finally tolled. 

She went directly back to her dorm room after class, intent on steering clear of the library until further notice, fearful that George might come and attempt a repeat of yesterday. Even the Daily Prophet book couldn’t distract her from the confusion and nerves. Death Eaters had become the least of her worries. Suddenly, the years she’d spent listening to Sadie talk about her boyfriends, crushes, dates, and various other escapades made sense. Her mind couldn’t abandon the thought of George Weasley for more than the few moments it took to begin and forget homework. 

At lunch, she tried to hide at the far end of the Slytherin table but Ginny spotted her halfway through and pulled Fred up from their table by the ear before dragging him over. She frantically glanced around for the other twin but didn’t see him approaching with his siblings. 

She nervously watched them walk towards her with stone-cold faces and tried to decipher the odd look in Fred’s eyes. Oh Godric, she thought, did they know? It was with excellent luck that she’d chosen the end furthest from the door, meaning that there was no escape from what she assumed was going to be an incredibly awkward conversation. 

“It really doesn’t look all that bad,” Fred mumbled as they stopped across from her. 

She glanced up at Ginny who’d put her head in her hand at the comment and then back to Fred. “Oh really?” She said in disbelief. 

Fred stared at her and shrugged. “Yes, really. You can hardly even tell which eye got punched.”

“Alright, thanks Fred,” she said menacingly. “You can fuck off.”

“Fred,” Ginny said in warning. “Say it.”

He looked down sheepishly and slowly opened his mouth again to speak.

“Look — ow Gin. I’m doing it!” He hissed at the short redhead with her wand dug into his ribs. “I’m sorry that we screwed up your face.” 

She looked at him in shock. His apology was entirely unexpected but she really did appreciate it, not that she’d put much blame on him in the first place. But that wasn’t the issue; he should be ridiculing her for letting his brother kiss her by now. There was no way in hell that he would keep it to himself if he knew so… George must not have said anything. 

She frantically searched his eyes for clues. There wasn’t nearly as much movement behind them as George’s or Ginny’s but she did detect the smallest shadow of sincerity behind a wall of sarcasm. He seemed to be contently unaware of what had transpired in the library but he was the least of her worries. She glanced over to Ginny and eyed her suspiciously. The young witch was busy glaring at her brother without a hint of a smirk on her mouth or knowing glint in her eyes. 

Incredible, they didn’t know.

“I’ll forgive you when my bruise finally goes away.”

Fred smiled a little wider, careening back towards his usual jovial energetic demeanor. “How, ever will I wait a whole ten minutes?”

“You’re not helping yourself.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he said with a chuckle. “You gotta deal.”

“Alright, then,” she said trying not to smile too broadly. “It’s a deal."

“And then you’ll go back to being our assistant,” Fred inquired, returning his usual smug smile to his face.

This again, great. “I was never your assistant,” she said before shooing them away.

Ginny smiled triumphantly at the interaction and had a real pep in her step as they walked back to their table. She exhaled in relief and stared at the retreating figures, very thankful for George’s ability to keep a secret. 

She continued to distract herself all afternoon, trying to focus on homework until Sadie dragged her to dinner to fill her in on all of the time she’d been spending with Anastas and his Durmstrang friends. 

“They can’t bloody understand a word I say,” she confessed, speaking energetically with her mouth full. “but it’s alright, I can’t really understand them either. I mostly watch them argue and wrestle and then Anastas and I sneak off.”

“Sounds like fun,” she said absentmindedly, staring off into the space between her and the Gryffindor table. 

“Are you alright,” Sadie fired at her in a hushed whisper, noticing her absent stare. “Your eye really doesn’t look too bad I promise, and barely anyone has talked about it so don’t worry.”

“What, no…nothing’s wrong,” she protested weakly. She was a terrible actress, and she knew it.

“And if you really have to know, everyone pretty much hates the Weasley’s so they didn’t even think it was that funny, except for Malfoy, who has been calling you a traitor for even speaking to them,” the brunette nodded her head assuringly, wincing at the little bit of bad news she’d tried to rush over. “But that’s no surprise, I mean with your history and all…”

Well, it was good to know that not everyone was laughing at her. That settled it though, she couldn’t afford to tell Sadie anything, not that she’d even been considering it, especially after the incident in the Library. She’d never kept a secret from Sadie before, but then again, she’d never even had a secret in the first place. It would be difficult to navigate around but it was ultimately for the best. What she didn’t know, wouldn’t hurt her. Unless god forbid, George, Harry, or Hermione ever did decide to tell anyone, then she would become even more of a social pariah than she already was and Sadie would have her head.

“I promise I’m fine,” she assured her worrisome friend. “Once the tournament starts, they’ll forget all about me.”

Sadie took the bait and launched into a speech about how she didn’t know who to root for. Her loyalties laid with Hogwarts, of course, but she’d be stupid to bet against Krum. Violet pondered the choices and decided that she would be rooting for Fleur to win. It’d be nice to watch the skinny blonde wipe the floor with three boys, however, she did hope that Potter could manage a second-place victory, seeing as he was probably the least capable and she loved an underdog. Especially one who could keep a secret.

_______

Sleep evaded Violet practically all night as her nerves about George swirled in her stomach. Armed with borderline extreme sleep deprivation, and a heavy subconscious, she arrived at potions the next morning almost twenty minutes early in order to go over the final steps of Amortentia. She opened her copy of Advanced Potions and studied the page because despite having it almost completely memorized, it was always good to double-check.

_ The finished potion will exude an adaptive scent, which will alter to appeal to the preferences of whoever inhales the aroma. _

Dammit, she’d forgotten about that. Her first successful batch of the potion was during her fourth year and at the time, it had smelled like the library, fall air, and coffee, which she quickly identified as a few of her favorite things, seeing as no particular person was weighing on her heart at the time. She’d officially known that she’d gotten it right when Sadie had told her that the pearl liquid reeked of Graham Montague’s cologne, and pestered her for weeks to make him smell it and report back.

Footsteps echoed down the hall and tore her from the memory. She checked the clock.

It had to be Snape, seeing as none of her peers would ever bother coming in this early. She turned to greet her mentor as the strides passed through the door but froze at the sight of George, already halfway to their desk, staring at her. 

His face was contorted into a look of determination and her stomach knotted itself terribly at the thought that he would try and kiss her properly. His long legs carried him quickly down the aisle and she wracked her brain for something to say to break the hypnosis he seemed to be under.

“Why are you here so early,” she asked hastily, trying to hide her mixture of shock and anxiety at being alone with him again. He didn’t seem to register her words in the slightest as he sat down and turned his chair to face her. She prayed to Salazar Slytherins ghost that he wouldn’t bring up the incident in the library and turned to face him. 

He regarded her for a moment with laser-focused eyes and raised his eyebrows raised in a quiet plea before dropping something onto the book in front of her. 

“Head of Potion Invention and Production at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes,” he said in a quiet, serious tone. “You’ll have an equal say and won’t answer to Fred or me.”

“Wha—“

“Perks include, partial creative control, generous compensation, flexible work schedule, and of course, riveting company,” he finished proudly, eyeing her with caution. 

“Wait…what?” She stammered, glancing down at the Galleon on her book. 

“You were right, you’re not an assistant,” he blurted nervously. “This is our official offer.”

This was not the conversation she thought that they would be having this morning and despite it being one of her least favorite topics as of late, his surprise attack had worked and she began to consider it. 

Hypothetically, if she did join their company, she’d have to admit to some vulnerability, which was never good. She’d forfeit anything left of her aloof, hard exterior and the twins would know that she was somewhat interested in their antics, no matter how stupid. 

On the other hand, George had made some good points about her creative flame barely being lit. She’d only used the potions classroom a few times after hours, to either practice old potions or brew more practical ones, both being minimally challenging. 

She picked up the gold piece and eyed him suspiciously, letting the concerned expression linger on his face for a few more seconds. 

Could she really be friends with the Weasley’s? It was one thing to speak in class, or when they managed to track her down, but this would mean willingly spending her free time with them. Not to mention her undecided feelings about George and whatever feelings he had for her. 

He cleared his throat and she finally looked back up at him. 

“Say it again,” she whispered. 

“Head of Potion Invent—“

“No,” she said softly. “The other part.” 

He looked confused for a moment and then raised his eyebrows in realization before smiling and dropping his head to peek up at her through his lashes. 

“You were right.”

Godric, she might say yes. What was the worst that could happen?

“You’re really serious about it?” She didn’t realize she’d been whispering until George leaned in closer to hear her better. 

“As a heart attack,” he whispered back. “Or in our case… a black-eye.”

She rolled her eyes and tried not to look too flustered by his breath that was caressing her neck lightly. She looked him dead on and searched his eyes. Nothing she hadn’t seen before, except, the cogs weren’t turning. 

There was no plot, or trick, or joke —just him. 

It would lead to more headaches, and blushes, and flustered conversations but the sincerity in his tone was undeniable. She took a deep breath and said goodbye to her old, monotonous life. 

“Okay. I’ll do it.”

“Really?” He exclaimed, clasping his hand together against his chest. 

“Yes,” she repeated, smiling slightly. “You wore me down.”

“Wicked,” he said, flashing an otherworldly smile. “That was really quite easy, you hardly even put up a fight!”

She glared at him. “Well, I was afraid you’d punch me in the face again if I said no.”

“Technically my hand never touched your face,” he gloated before quickly turning red as they both remembered that his hand had indeed been on her face, amongst other places just yesterday. 

They sat in silence for a moment ruminating in awkwardness and unsureness before she broke the tension. 

“Um, I do have some conditions though,” she stated, changing the topic, and ignoring the heat on her cheeks. 

“Already so demanding,” he protested weakly, dawning a grin. “You’ve only just joined the company.”

“Do you want to hear them or not?”

He forced his face to become serious and nodded. “Yes. Tell me please, Violet.”

The command took her by surprise. Her heart skipped a beat at his demanding tone and she could feel the heat beneath her navel swelling. If that was going to be her reaction every time he spoke to her then she was in trouble. Her feelings, more than anything, were to blame for this lapse of better judgment and if they were going to be spending more time together then, that was the first thing that needed to be squared away.

“First,” she started weakly, unsure of how he would react. “We um…should probably keep things professional.”

She knew he’d heard her and caught her drift but he just sat and stared at her as if she’d just hit him in the face, serious, and unmoving. It was unclear if he was hurt or confused, but he could’ve been neither, or both for all she knew. Unable to tear herself away from his intense, unchanging gaze, she continued, hoping to shake him out of his trance.

“Okay, secondly. No one can know,” she murmured shyly, hoping that he wouldn’t take it the wrong way. “If Snape ever found out that I was using his classroom to help you, I’d be permanently shunned by him and the rest of my house.”

She watched him mull it over and then nod in agreement. If he was offended, he didn’t show it. Surely it couldn’t have been a surprise though, she doubted the negative feelings about him and his family from those in Slytherin was a shock. 

“Oh wait,” he said abruptly with a look of concern. “Ginny already knows.”

“That’s fine, I trust her,” she mused. “No one besides you, me, Fred, and Ginny, then."

He nodded again and looked down at his hands for a moment, suddenly mesmerized by this thumbnail.

“Anything else?” he asked, whispering as the classroom around them filled up. 

Again, she felt nervous and hesitated, averting her eyes away from his. 

“No more pranks on me.” She flinched a little as the words left her mouth, hoping that it wasn’t too big of a stipulation, after all, they had already gotten her pretty good and surely he could understand the stress of hiding her involvement in their business, and worrying about their constant trickery. “I mean I’ll test a few things as we invent them but just no surprises… and no more bruises.”

The corner of his mouth ticked up and she watched his eyes caress over chest and neck before landing on her cheek where the skin was still a nasty purple. 

“Alright,” he mumbled, barely audible. “Sorry again, by the way.”

“That’s ok,” she whispered sheepishly. “You’ll pass my terms along to Fred?”

“Yeah. I doubt he’ll have any issues, so consider it done.”

She stared at him wordlessly and smiled in agreement. If there had been any doubt in his mind about whether or not she forgave him, it was surely gone now. He furrowed his brow like he wanted to say something else but remained silent. It was comfortable and yet, teetering on too many things being left unspoken. She knew she was partially to blame but was perfectly content with, holding her tongue. It was unfair, awkward, strange, and entirely new territory and yet, it all seemed worth it, just to be near him, not that she’d ever admit it, even to herself. 

Snape brushed into the room and severed their trance with the sound of the slamming door and window curtains screeching to a close. 

“Fetch your potions from storage and finish the remaining steps,” he instructed, gliding up the podium stairs and towards his desk. “Because Amortentia is extremely potent and dangerous, we will be skipping the addition of the intended drinker’s lock of hair or blood. Leave the finished position in your cauldron and I will come to inspect it.”

“I’ll go get it,” George whispered, standing up and joining Lee in the aisle. 

“Don’t drop it,” she absentmindedly called after him, earning her a smile and a wink. 

The knot in her stomach couldn’t make up its mind. They’d successfully not spoken about the library moment which had calmed her nerves but his mere presence left her palms, sweaty and heart, racing. She glanced back down at her textbook, hoping that the complex final instructions would distract her from the fact that she’d just agreed to join the Weasley family business. 

George placed the cauldron onto the flow flame she’d stoked on the burner and sat down.

“So what’s next,” he inquired uninterestedly, leaning close to her shoulder. 

She felt her stomach flip as his hair brushed against her shoulder. Why did he always have to be so close?

“Haven’t you read the final steps,” she asked incredulously.

“No Vi, I haven’t,” he countered, with a smug grin on his face. “I’d hate to take away your fun.”

She stared at him in disbelief, suddenly feeling no particular warmth or allegiance towards him at all. It was amazing, his ability to give her emotional whiplash with only a few words. Despite his goofy grin, she’d made up her mind. He couldn’t leech off of her talents for his business and his grade, no matter how many galleons and neck kisses he gave her.

“There is no way I am letting you share my grade without ever lifting a finger,” she hissed.

“Oh c’mon,” he said, smirking at her annoyance. “I do plenty! 

“Like what?”

“For starters, I just brought you that cauldron, and not to mention, gave you a job!”

She rolled her eyes. “Have you even read a single chapter?”

“Of course I have,” he exhaled. “I just thought that we had a good thing going here. I get you the ingredients and then you do the rest. It’s a privilege, after all, to watch your mastery.”

“Compliments will you get nowhere,” she squinted at his relaxed demeanor. “How about we switch? I’ll go get the final ingredients and you can finish the potion all by yourself.”

“Violet,” he exclaimed as she stood to pass behind his chair. “I don’t know how!”

“Read the recipe genius,” she said, turning to wink at his deadpan stare before entering the ingredient closet. It felt good to finally have an upper hand over him, and there was no way she wasn’t going to torture him as long as she could.

His head was buried in her book by the time she retrieved the three ashwinder eggs they needed and sat back down.

“Darling,” he said cautiously, scooting close again. “I really do appreciate your cranial capacity for such a meticulous trade as potions.”

“You better get stirring,” she responded, smiling sweetly, ignoring the butterfly that fluttered against her ribcage at the pet name. “We only have forty-five minutes left.”

“You’re really willing to risk your grade just to make a point,” he asked in disbelief. 

“Absolutely.”

“You’re mental.”

“Forty-four.”

She watched him roll his eyes and read the recipe a few more times before hesitantly reaching out to grab an egg and drop it into the simmering pot, stirring the potion in no particular clock-wise or counter-clockwise pattern, just as the recipe prescribed. He glanced up at her for confirmation and taking pity on his now panic-stricken expression, she nodded slowly.

She stayed silent as he repeated this step two more times over the next forty minutes until the potion shone with a pearlescent finish and the steam rose in a swirling pattern, indicating that it could be taken off the heat, which he did. 

“Smells incredible,” he said, leaning forward to inspect his work. “Really incredible.”

“That’s good,” she answered hesitantly. “Probably means you did it right. The final scent will adapt to what you find most appealing.”

He furrowed his brow and glanced up to meet her eyes, “What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s the most powerful love potion in the world so the scent is meant to remind you of things that you like — or sometimes a person… if you have one that you love — not just you but anyone that anyone loves,” she stammered. “It’s different for everyone that smells it."

She leaned as far away from the steaming cauldron as she could. Her nose scrunched as the faintest smell of cinnamon broke through her nostrils but she was too far away to tell if it was George or the potion. 

“Oh,” he muttered absentmindedly, inhaling the potion deeply and staring at her. “What do you smell?”

“Um just coffee and um… parchment,” she lied, trying to keep her eyes away from him and the stupid potion. “Like the library, I think.”

She turned away from before he could offer up his own recollection of the potion’s scent and gestured to Snape that they were finished. 

“Good, Miss Wilkes,” Snape said. Even his compliments sounded cold and distant. “Ten points to Slytherin.” 

“Professor,” she rushed out. “Weasley split half the work with me.” She stared up at her mentor, hoping he couldn’t sense a molecule of camaraderie between her and George. Snape glanced down at the stirring spoon next to George, and then back up to her.

“Very well,” he sneered, turning his attention towards her table partner. “I’m sure you would have been hopeless without her, so I will deduct no points from Gryffindor, as a reward. You are both dismissed.”

Her shoulders dropped. Snape looked slightly perturbed but then again, he always did. She searched his face for any suspicion and finding none, hurriedly packed her things up and followed George out the door. 

“I did it,” he exclaimed, throwing an arm around her shoulders when they got to the dungeons hallway. “And to think, you’ve had me on the sidelines this entire time, wasting my talents.”

His touch made her stomach double-knot itself. The cinnamon scent wafting from his clothes, and breath overwhelmed her. Being this close to his chest again was too tempting. She shrugged him off and tried to ignore his confused glance.

“Yes, you’re incredible, truly an inspiration,” she said sarcastically, rolling her eyes and giving him a light push towards the stairs.

“You’re obsessed with me,” he cooed, pushing her back lightly. 

She squinted at him and gave him a final shove as hard as she could, even though his tall frame barely registered the force. “Oh please, you’re obsessed with yourself.” 

Before she could ascend the first stair, George caught her hand and spread his other arm across the entrance, pulling her into his chest and blocking her path. She looked up at him and was surprised to see a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Careful Vi,” he whispered, leaning down so that she could feel his breath against her face. 

She bit her lip and tried not to breathe so that her chest wouldn’t hit his hand, still holding hers in the space between them. 

“With what,” she inquired in a shuddering sigh, unable to deny the cloudiness of her mind at his proximity.

“This,” he responded, nodding towards her. “Or else people might start to think that you fancy me.”

He leaned forward and flashed a confident smile merely a few inches away from her face. Suddenly breathless, she almost reached out to grab him in order to steady herself. Cinnamon stung her eyes, nose, and throat, so strong that she wondered if his lips would taste like it too. 

“I’d be more worried about you thinking that,” she whispered, unsure of what he was doing, or why she wasn’t pulling away. His eyes left hers to watch her mouth move and she could’ve sworn that before she was finished speaking, he’d dipped his chin down slightly.

They lingered a few inches from one another for a moment before his eyes returned to normal. He shook his head so close to her that they almost brushed noses, and chuckled, dropping his arm from the door in defeat, 

“Not a snake charmer yet, am I?” 

Arrogant git. 

Of course, he was just teasing her. Lest he forget that it was he, who had pressed his body against hers. He, who had brushed his lips against her skin. He, who had initiated this entire thing, from the very first sentence on the train. He had no right to tease her, and she wouldn’t let him. If his affection for her was honest, he could’ve fooled her. 

“For your sake, I’ll pretend like I didn’t hear that,” she retorted, yanking her hand from his, pushing past him, and sprinting up the stairs towards DADA, successfully losing him in the crowded main hallway. The annoyance she’d felt towards him for nearly five years washed over her in a sobering wave. His feelings for her probably began and ended with physical lust. The thought bounced around in her head throughout class, hurting her feelings, and dragging down her mood. 

Sadie found her after class and yanked her by the arm, all the way to lunch. 

“I heard the juiciest gossip today,” she hissed into her ear as they entered the Great Hall. 

“Well go on then,” Violet said impatiently. 

Sadie pulled her down into the nearest two seats at the Slytherin table and looked around to make sure no one was listening. 

“So,” she began. “You know how Anastas is good friends with Krum.”

“Yes I’m aware,” she nearly rolled her eyes but didn’t want to deter the excitement of her friend. 

“And you know how Krum is one of the Triwizard champions,” she continued, widening her eyes with every word. 

“Sades c’mon, just spit it out!”

“OK, ok, ok,” she muttered, leaning closer. “Well, he told me that the first Triwizard challenge is something to do with dragons.” 

“What,” she breathed. “They’re going to have to fight dragons?”

“Not sure, but something like that.”

Dragons. How incredible. She didn’t get to see many magical creatures in her muggle home town, let alone dragons. The mere thought of them put the pep back in her step.

“Bloody hell, they’re teenagers!”

“You heard Dumbledore! Not for the faint of heart,” Sadie said with her mouth full. “Besides, I doubt they’ll have to kill it or anything.”

“Never mind the beasts.” She paused and shook her head. “They’re going to get Potter killed.” 

“Eh, I’m sure he’ll be fine. Didn’t he once fight a troll?” Sadie paused to glance over at the Gryffindor table. “Even if worst comes to worst, death by dragon is quite a way to go out.” 

Violet put her head in her hands at her friend’s cavalier attitude about the boy who lived and sorted through the information again. 

“Wait, how does Krum know already?”

“Not sure,” Sadie mused, nodding towards the Durmstrang table. “I’ll bet their headmaster has some guy on the inside. He’s quite sleazy so I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s been greasing palms.”

“I wonder if the rest of them know,” she mused. “Seems quite unfair.”

Sadie rolled her eyes. “Don’t give me that. If you go tell them, and it gets back to me, I’ll strangle you in your sleep.”

She shot her friend a smile. “Alright, alright. They probably wouldn’t even believe me if I did.” 

“It’s exciting though, isn’t it?” Sadie’s eyes sparkled. “Finally something interesting is happening around here.”

“Exciting to watch our peers be ripped apart by a fire breathing monster?”

Sadie threw her head back and cackled. “Oh don’t be so dramatic! They would hardly choose the worst task to be first. If someones gonna die, it’ll probably happen during the second or third task.”

“Thank Godric your name didn’t get chosen,” she said. Sadie’s abilities weren’t anything to be trifled with but she doubted that dragons would be susceptible to her particular talent for charms. 

“You’re telling me,” Sadie giggled, rolling her eyes. 

Violet joined Hermione in the library for the rest of the evening. Thankfully, the curly-haired witch only briefly mentioned that she wasn’t aware that she and George were friends, which Violet vehemently denied. It was neither a lie, nor truth, but she felt comfortable with the moral wash. Despite Hermione having seen the same thing as Potter, she didn’t take the opportunity to poke fun, for which, Violet was very thankful. They remained silent for the majority of the evening until she refused Hermione's invitation to join her for dinner again at the Gryffindor table, not wanting a repeat of last time when Georges’s hand went up her skirt. 

_ Well, at least not in public.  _

No, not ever. She shook the thought from her head and refocused on her homework. 

Around eleven, she made her way back to her room and found a note from Sadie saying that she’d be spending the night in the Durmstrangs dorm tonight. She giggled at the little dragon drawing her roommate had scribbled on the back of the paper and turned in for the night. 

_ _____ _

_ Dark mark.  _

_ Hogwarts. _

_ Running.  _

_ She held her sister’s hand in one arm and Ginny Weasleys in the other. They sprinted across the Hogwarts lawn towards male screams in the distance. Her legs ached and her lungs burned but she couldn’t stop. They couldn’t take him. She had to save him. Him.  _

She woke with a pounding headache and adrenaline rushing through her veins. In order to calm down, she counted her heartbeats until the fear in her chest had subsided and her breathing returned to a normal rhythm. She wondered how much longer she could keep this high-stress routine up, as the static of reality returned, finally tangible beneath her fingertips.

Reality. 

A relatively small comfort, seeing as her reality still had both Death Eaters and George in it. Keeping them separate was pertinent, but that would mean exiling herself from him completely. She squeezed her eyes tight and told herself that would have to be a torturous thought for another day.

She dressed hurriedly, anxious to get to charms and ensure that George had briefed his brother on the terms and conditions of her employment. She thought back to their conversation and seriously regretted carving out stipulations about keeping their relationship strictly business. Judging by yesterday, it didn’t seem to matter much because he appeared to be hellbent on making her as uncomfortable with their situation as he could. She should’ve kept her mouth shut and remained in the relationship neutral ether they’d built on staring contests and unspoken sentiments.

She counted the stone stairs up to the charms hallway as they flew by underneath her, in order to occupy her anxious mind. She was so caught up in moving and counting that she almost didn’t notice the twins waiting for her at the entrance to the corridor.

“Violet,” George called out when she almost passed them. 

The noise caught her off guard and she almost tripped and fell onto the floor. She found her footing and straightened her robes, trying to look calm and professional but they didn’t seem fooled. She had to avoid George’s amused expression for fear of wanting to punch it, most likely ending their business relationship before it has even begun. 

“In a hurry to see us,” Fred teased, clearly in the gloating mood at the fact that she’d finally accepted their proposition.

“In a hurry to get this conversation over with,” she mumbled, trying not to seem too out of breath. Again, they weren’t fooled, most likely because of her beet-red face and animated chest movements. 

“Ouch,” Fred clutched his heart in fake agony. “And to think I expected her to be more hospitable by now Georgie.”

“Best not to hold your breath waiting for this one to warm up Freddie,” George smirked. His voice was deeper than normal, almost gravelly and it caught her by surprise. There was no way that her glowing cheeks would return to normal anytime soon.

“Are you done?” She asked, regretting her decision to align herself with such idiots. Were they capable of taking anything seriously? She doubted it.

“Ah quite the contrary, we are just getting started,” Fred said, leading them down the hallway towards charms. “I couldn’t be more excited about the beginning of our business partnership Wilkes. George here has already briefed me on your conditions so no need to worry. Not a soul outside of us and Ginny will know your dirty little secret. And of course, you’re safe from my furious wrath, for now.”

“Thanks a lot,” she said sarcastically as they walked into the classroom. “When do I start?”

“As soon as possible,” George said. “We’re already behind schedule.”

“Fine.” 

“Well don’t sound too excited, darling,” George beamed, pleased about finally getting his way, despite her attitude. 

She glared at him. “What’s the plan?”

“Not sure yet. We should all meet sometime soon to discuss it.”

Fred leaned between them and in front of his brother. “You free for dinner tonight, Wilkes?” He finished the question off with a wink. George rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything, waiting for her answer. 

“We can’t meet in the Great Hall,” she scoffed.

“Right, right, right,” Fred muttered, slapping his forehead in a fake realization. “I forgot that we’ve got your precious reputation to worry about.”

She rolled her eyes, thoroughly fed up with the conversation. “How about the library instead? After dinner?”

“Anything you say potions master,” George teased as they peeled off to find their seats. She ignored the suggestive wiggling of his eyebrows and sat down in her chair.

“What was that about,” Mandy whispered as Professor Flitwick began class.

“Nothing, they just caught me in the hall,” she said. A half-truth.

Just like everyone else she’d seen, Mandy fussed over her purple eye and cradled Violet’s head in her hands while glaring at the desk behind them. With all the excitement from this week, she’d nearly forgotten that half her face was still purple. 

“I’m fine, I promise,” she promised her empathetic table partner. “It doesn’t even hurt anymore.”

“Oh I’m glad,” she cooed. “I didn’t think it was funny, by the way, just so you know.”

“Thanks, Mandy,” she smiled at the incredibly endearing witch. 

“He’s such an idiot.”

She snorted a laugh, fully aware the George was listening in. “He is, isn’t he?”

Mandy nodded in agreement, sneering behind them once more. “I’m sure the bruise will go away soon. Not that you don’t still look great, because you do, I mean you’re lucky because purple is definitely your color.” 

  
  



	13. The Head of Potions

She and Sadie had agreed earlier in the week to skip Care of Magical Creatures so Violet didn’t leave her chair in the library until around 5 when she briefly ran down to the Great Hall to grab a sandwich. She felt at least one of the twin’s eyes on her as she stopped to blow Sadie a kiss from where she sat at the Durmstrang table, cursing the blush on her cheeks as a few boys loudly begged her to come and join them from across the hall. She happily resisted and flitted back up to her chair.

It wasn’t that the boys Sadie hung out with weren’t handsome, because they certainly were, but there was something off-putting about them. Something that would make it impossible to ever commit herself to one romantically. She thought that maybe it was their eyes. Easily triggered and tracking anything moving around them. Their thoughts seemed to be entirely dependent on immediate physical surroundings. Which, was fine but there was nothing else there to entice her. No deeper meaning, or mystery to uncover. Just wandering eyes, attaching themselves to whatever walked by next. She had no interest in being a momentary object of infatuation.

She settled back into her chair and just before she thought that maybe the twins had forgotten, she heard them enter the library. The aisles were relatively silent before their appearance, but of course, they couldn’t help but giggle as they shh’ed the students trying to peacefully study, who were shh-ing them back.

“Wilkes,” Fred whispered, rounding the corner ahead of his brother. “Have you ever thought of spending your time somewhere more exciting?”

“Never,” she teased back. “Why, did you have a better place in mind?”

“Our bedroom a’course,” Fred said, pulling up a chair, as George had already brushed past him to claim the ottoman wordlessly.

She tried to move her feet off of the footstool before he sat down but his hand wrapped around her ankle before she could move. Her heart jumped into her throat at the rather rough contact. Thankfully Fred sat on the other side, so he wasn’t able to see his brother’s hand gripping her possessively.

“You share a room?” she stammered, trying to ignore George’s fingers running a small pattern along the lower half of her leg.

“Yeah,” Fred answered. “Nobody else wanted to room with us, apparently we are intolerable, did you know?”

She smiled at his fake shock and returned his smile, with a knowing look.

“Now who told you that,” she cooed.

Fred beamed. He wasn’t used to her playing along and opened his mouth excitedly to continue the banter but George beat him to the punch.

“So,” George started slowly, keeping his eyes on her leg. “How do you want to do this?”

“Right, well I thought that we could use a little organization,” she said, producing a quill and parchment. “We should start with the ideas that you already have, that need potions and then move onto other inventions, sound good?”

They nodded and let her continue.

“I am guessing that you want to begin with the ton-tongue-toffee?” she inquired, scribbling down the name.

“Aww, she remembered,” Fred clutched his heart along with his brother’s shoulder, making them both laugh.

“Yes, that sounds good,” George responded between giggles.

She rolled her eyes and continued, “And then what should come after that?”

“Let’s do the canary creams, and then the love potion idea that we had talked about in class,” George said, finally looking up to return her gaze.

“You were serious about the polyjuice potion,” she asked in disbelief. The conversation they’d had so long ago had completely slipped her mind.

“Yes,” he responded.

She looked at him with concern, uncaring if they thought her less confident. “It’s quite difficult,” she said flatly.

“Well that’s why you’re here,” Fred pushed boldly.

She glanced between their encouraging faces and resigned, “Fine but that will take a month so we should start it as soon as we are done with the toffee. Also, there are a few things in the recipe that aren’t available in the ingredients cupboard so we’ll have to figure that out.”

“Leave it to us, no problem,” George said sharply, shooting a knowing glance and smile at his partner in crime.

He’d tried to be vague, but she caught their drift immediately.

“If you’re going to steal from Snape, you can not get caught,” she hissed.

“Don’t get caught,” the twins said in unison, rolling their eyes. “Thank you for the advice Wilkes, but I think we can manage,” Fred finished.

She squinted in suspicion but decided that they probably did know what they were doing when it came to mischief and dropped the subject.

“Alright, well this is a good start,” she said softly, looking down at her list, still trying to ignore the lovely massaging circles that George’s fingers were absentmindedly working into her ankle.  
“I’ll start working on the odorless Swelling Solution in the potions classroom tomorrow, and keep a consistent Friday night schedule, sound good?”

“Sounds great,” George said. “I’ll meet you there.”

“What?”

“I said, I will meet you there,” he repeated himself flatly, anticipating the argumentative tone of her voice.

“Why do you need to be there,” she retorted. “You’re terrible at potions.”

“Company supervision, Violet.” His face was serious and challenging.

He was insisting that they spend time alone, at night, in the candlelit potions classroom? On the list of things that she could not afford to do, that was number one. Regardless of how her chest felt when he walked into a room, or when he said her name, that was too much of a risk.

“I prefer to work alone, thanks but no thanks.”

“Too bad. It’s non-negotiable.”

“What are you talking about? I never signed a contract so literally everything is negotiable.”

“Violet,” he growled, keeping his voice low enough for the library while also displaying his increased frustration. “Let’s not forget who works for who.”

“Fine. Then I quit.” She glared at the now much more serious redhead and kicked him slightly. He caught her movement without breaking eye contact and held her foot back, pressing her legs into the velvet tuft with one large hand, binding them together. The force and quickness made her breathless.

Fred glanced at them nervously. “Georgie —“

“You’re really difficult, you know that?” He hissed over his brother.

“Oh am I?” she glowered, fake pouting at his weak insult. “You are the one making things difficult!”

“Alright, alright,” Fred said. “Let’s be honest, you’re both difficult.”

She glared at him. “Shove off.”

“Oh come off it you two! The success of the company is on the line!”

“Tell that to him!” She huffed, annoyed that Fred was taking his side.

"I’ve spent my whole life with him, Wilkes, one hour a week won’t kill you!”

Violet tore her gaze away from Fred and turned back to George. She glared at him for a few seconds more, until his grip on her ankles softened and his fingers return to petting the skin at the top of her sock lightly. He smirked up at her and she could tell he could feel the goosebumps rising on her legs as his finger caressed a ticklish spot. At this moment, she felt like literal putty in his hands. It was infuriating but regardless, she caved first.

“Fine,” she spat quietly. “You can come.”

“Good girl,” he cooed. The pet name both exhilarated and enraged her but his smile didn’t budge as she scowled at him.

“Great teamwork everyone,” Fred continued.

She audibly scoffed.

“Count your blessings, Wilkes, you won’t have to worry about me pestering you because unlike George, I’ve got better things to do on my Friday nights.”

“Things like Angelina Johnson, I heard,” she cooed, unable to help herself at the opportunity to tease the more vivacious twin with personal information. She guessed that Sadie’s intel was correct as George nearly choked on a fit of laughter.

Now it was Fred’s turn to glower at her. Surely, managing to piss both twins off in less than an hour was some sort of record. “Not pranking you is going to be the most difficult thing I ever do.”

“I do so appreciate your efforts,” she whispered, biting her lip to contain the smug grin pulling at the corners of her mouth.

“Alright, we will leave you to your sulking or whatever you do in this chair all night,” Fred stood and turned to leave, thankfully missing the panicked glance she shared with George and the subsequent blush on both of their cheeks.

“You go on without me Freddie,” George said unexpectedly. “I just want to go over a few ideas with our head of potions.”

“Yeah right,” Fred groaned, not bothering to turn and acknowledge his brother.

She listened to Fred’s lumbering footsteps exit the library but didn’t speak to the boy who was now freely rubbing one of her calves. She shuddered as his fingers skirted lightly up the side of her crossed leg, massaging small circles all the way down. The movement was rocking her slightly, reminding her of the last time he’d found her in the library.

This was bad. She needed to leave.

“What did you want to talk about,” she whispered, hoping to speed their interaction along.

“Nothing,” he muttered, concentrating on her legs.

Any aggression she’d been holding onto disappeared as she studied his candlelit face. She tried desperately to hold onto it, to find anything unappealing, or angering about him but it was pointless.

The flicking glow caressed his normally rather sharp features. He seemed warmer, and soft in this context, out of the dungeon and away from class. Maybe her love of the library twisted her mind but he almost looked beautiful.

“That feels nice,” she sighed, closing her eyes. For the second time in one week, she melted and lost herself in his touch. Every graze of his finger sunk her deeper and deeper into the velvet cloud. A month ago, his mere presence was cause for panic, nearly assaulting in nature and now… it was the calmest she’d felt in a long time. He tugged the clasp of her Mary Janes and slid them off of her feet, maneuvering himself so that her feet rested on his lap. Her mind screamed something about not letting him get so comfortable but she didn’t listen.

She opened her eyes again and watched him lift one of her feet to his face, scrunching his nose and letting out a fake gag.

“Ah, the scent of my Amortentia.”

She rolled her eyes and giggled, cursing herself at the silly whimpering school girl she became when they were alone. He held her eye contact and smiled.

“You seemed a little tense, before,” he started, cautiously beginning a conversation, and rubbing her feet.

He was right of course, but she was always tense. It was just in her nature to constantly be overthinking and worrying. Surely he knew that by now.

“Yeah?” She raised an eyebrow sarcastically. “I wonder why I’d be tense around you.”

“Me?” He said coyly.

“Yes,” she sighed. “You.”

“Nah.”

She rolled her eyes. Here we go.

“I think you’re tense because you don’t know how to relax,” he continued.

He wasn’t necessarily wrong, but she would never, in a million years admit that.

“So you think it’s got nothing to do you?”

George smiled smugly. “Not in the slightest, darling.”

“And what makes you think you know so much about me,” she snapped. “You’ve known me for what, a month?”

“You’re not so hard to figure out Vi,” he retorted. “Besides, technically I’ve known you for five years, I’d just never had a reason to annoy you until a month ago.”

“Like you need a reason to annoy people,” she scoffed.

He shrugged and smiled, caressing the length of her legs lightly. The soft-touch lulled her thoughts and she almost forgot to speak again.

“Well I seem relaxed now, don’t I,” she inquired quietly, gesturing to his hands. The intimate tone of her voice wasn’t on purpose, but he seemed to have that effect on her.

“I thought you were tense when I’m around,” he teased.

She met his eyes and cursed herself for being talked into a corner like this.

“Not now,” she admitted sheepishly. “Only when you’re being an annoying git.”

His smile faded and she studied him with concern. Had she hurt his feelings?

“What am I being now, then,” he asked quietly, staring at her.

Her heart skipped a beat at his low voice and serious questions. Truthfully, she didn’t know why she felt the way she did. This time last week she’d been plotting his death, and now she was half laying on his lap with a fire burning beneath her belly, fantasizing about sitting up and kissing him properly. Maybe her chair was cursed. Or maybe his toffee eyes had her under some sort of spell.

“Sweet,” she whispered. “I guess… you’re being sweet.”

She had meant to tease him further but nothing else came out. Her gentle and honest words bloomed in the space between them and George’s hands stopped moving, as his lips twitched into a smile.

They watched each other for a moment before he broke the silence by clearing his throat. “Well don’t get used to it,” he mumbled, resting a still hand on her knee. “Just trying to treat my employees well s’all.”

“Employees,” she said, emphasizing the accidental plurality of his statement in fake shock. “You do this to Fred as well then?”

He squinted his eyes, but he couldn’t hide the smile forming on his lips.

“You’re hilarious,” he said, gripping her legs tight as he had before when she’d tried to kick him. “No, for your information. I do not do this to Fred."

“Now who’s tense?” she managed to squeak out between quiet giggles.

Before she had a chance to resist, George yanked her legs, pulling her halfway off of the velvet tuft and into his lap, making her head hit the seat of the chair. The movement made her shirt ride up and he instantly pounced on her bare skin, tickling her stomach and leaning over her. She couldn’t stifle her giggles any longer and with the added amusement from the friction against her torso, her laughs echoed a little too loudly against the bookcases around them.

“I thought snakes were supposed to have a nasty bite,” George cooed over her laughter. “Is that the worst you’ve got?”

She tried in vain to push his hands away from her stomach but focusing was impossible with the sensation of his hands on her bare skin again, and the view of him smiling over her, less than a foot away from her face.

He moved the hands that were trying to fight him off over her head and pinned them to the back of the couch, allowing his other hand full access to her bare stomach. She closed her eyes and desperately tried to stifle her giggles and remain quiet enough for the library but the sensory overload made it impossible.

“Nothing to say now huh,” George whispered between giggles.

She opened her eyes and tried to speak through the laughter but suddenly, the pleasure turned to panic as she realized that he was leaning closer and closer to her face.

Was he going to kiss her? What if somebody walked past and saw them? What if it was Sadie, or worse, Malfoy and they saw her canoodling with a Weasley?

Worst of all, what if she kissed him back… and liked it?

His proximity and heat were too much, she had to leave, now.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted, cutting his laughter off, yanking her arms out of his grip and shoving him off of her. “Um, yes, sorry I uh just remember that I… I have to go.” His brow furrowed in confusion as he grasped lightly at her silhouette but she had already jumped over him and stumbled out of the chair. “See you tomorrow, uh, meet me at 10.”

“Violet,” was all she heard him say before she grabbed her books and ran out of the library frantically, unfortunately not remembering that she only had her socks on until she was already safely in the dungeon.

Her head was pounding as she sat down on her bed, still acutely aware that George’s hands had been on her bare skin. How had she so easily given up that feeling? She was an idiot for staying, and an idiot for leaving.

Thankfully, Sadie was gone so she didn’t have to explain why she was running around in just socks but she also longed to tell her friend about the strange month she was having. Sadie was much more experienced with boys than she was and although Graham Montague was a terrible excuse for a human, technically, he was still a boy.

She knocked her head against her pillow, trying to understand the strange cloudy, and complicated feelings brewing in her chest every time she even thought of George. She wished she knew how this stuff worked. The butterflies, the knot, the burning, it all appeared so quickly, and in the beginning, she’d mistaken it as hatred, but it wasn’t.

Then what could it be? Loathing? Jealously? It felt like a mixture of insanity, loneliness, and want —no — need was more accurate. But what did she need?

A lobotomy. She definitely needed a lobotomy. Only then would the constant thinking of George Weasley end.

She slowly inhaled and exhaled and started remembering all of their interactions from the very beginning, excavating her feelings along the way.

The train. That was definitely hatred. She was slightly amused by her ability to rile him up, and give him advice about his only talent but that turned out to be the worst thing she ever did, resulting in more hatred for him.

Potions. She flipped over on her back and stared at the canopy. In potions, she felt annoyance and confusion. Annoyed that he was there but confused as to why he’d gone out of his way to sit next to her. Until she realized that he wanted to use her talents to make money, then there was a mixture of amusement and annoyance?

But there was something else there that she couldn’t sort out. He didn’t just ask about the company or pester her about products. He let her talk about potions and she gladly shared her only skill with him. He asked about her other interests and paid attention when she spoke. He brushed his knee against hers, even when they weren’t talking, and always scooted her chair in for her. It was odd and entirely inexplicable but she craved it. Her stomach nearly erupted at the thought of his eyes always on her in class. On the side of her face as she concentrated, on her hands as she worked, on the back of her neck during charms. Watching her, always. She felt dizzy.

And then, out of nowhere — the library. She made it through a few seconds of the memory before her heart was fluttering out of her chest.

Her body knew that she liked George before her brain did.

Him of all people. She sat up abruptly and stared into the mirror from across the room, analyzing her round face to make sure that there wasn’t blood running out of her nose.

How could she like him?

Had he really been leaning in to kiss her? Had he meant the leg massage as a friendly gesture? Had he kissed her chest to be nice? Was it customary to grind against a friend?

She knew the answers but was too hippogriff shit to admit it to herself.

All the times his pale, freckled skin had caressed against her over the course of the month flooded in her mind. Her core burned with desire but she pushed it from her head.

Ignore it. She would have to ignore it.

She zeroed in on her eyes, focusing her dilated pupils on the seriousness of the situation. It was fruitless to dream of him. They could never work. An image of her uncle’s face in the newspaper flashed as she stared at his similar features in herself. She wasn’t an idiot and knew that infatuation due to proximity, or whatever else was drawing them together, wouldn’t stand a chance against the reality of the blood running through her veins.

She steadied her breathing, promising herself over and over that she’d ignore the new feelings blooming in her chest.

No more temptation, no more friendly banter, and no more alone time, and that would just have to be that.

Until tomorrow night of course, when she would be stuck alone with him in a dimly lit dungeon in the middle of the night, for hours on end.

The image swirled in her head and fantasy George did unspeakable things to her on their potions desk.

She was weak, so weak.

She couldn’t fight it and let her fingers brush past her pajama bottoms to quell the almost painful throbbing between her legs.


	14. The Dungeon Mystery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Thanks for all the bookmarks, comments, hits, and kudos! I'd really do appreciate them all and would love to hear some more feedback about the story so far. Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy this long chapter!

After an entire day of fidgeting and fussing, when the dinner bell rang on Friday evening, Violet closed the homework that she’d been half focusing on and decided that, it was probably time to leave her room to find Sadie who was surely impatiently waiting for her at their table. 

Mustering all of her courage, she marched into the Great Hall and found her friend sitting alone at the head of the table. Not daring to glance at the Gryffindors, she scurried the length of the room and sat facing the wall with a worried look on her face. 

“Geez, why do you look so skittish,” Sadie questioned her as she sat down. 

There was no conceivable way she’d be able to explain her predicament to her friend so she thought of something to throw her off the trail.

“Drugs,” she responded, smiling slightly as her friend cackled and practically toppled off the bench. 

“That is bloody funny Vi!”

When she regained composure, Sadie launched into the million and one things she did and saw throughout the day. Violet relished in the opportunity to space out and be swept away with words while picking at her dinner of pork and potatoes, twirling her fork nervously as she ate. 

They sat and talked until the clock tolled seven times, at which, Sadie rushed off with Anastas, and a few other nordic boys to make it to a get together on the Durmstrang ship. Sadie begged her a final time to come with them and to abandon the library for just one night but she politely declined, turning a bright red when Anastas and his friends joined her roommates pleading. Undoubtedly, Sadie would convince her to come to some sort of get-together this year but she’d get away with as many declines as she could before then. 

Sadie blew her rapid kisses as the group turned to leave and she followed shortly after to go and sit in her room nervously until 10. 

By 9:30, she’d read an entire book, finished all her homework, and tried on half of her closet, having decided on a pair of high-waisted straight black jeans with a black v-neck sweater, tucked loosely into the front. 

She fussed with the apology note that George had sent her earlier in the week for a while, trying to remember the anger and hatred she once felt for him but it didn’t work because her eyes kept getting stuck on the way he wrote her name. It was sloppy and jagged but legible. 

At 9:55, she snuck through the common room and darted down the hall, praying not to run into any stray Slytherins along the way. The enchanted key that Snape had given her, unlocked the classroom door with ease and she double-checked to make sure that he hadn’t put a ward on the door to alert him when she was there. Satisfied with his lack of security, she flicked her wand and performed a non-verbal fire spell, making the room burst with candlelight. 

Her heart sank slightly as she glanced around. Dim candlelight, not romantic at all. 

She gathered the ingredients from the back storage room and set up a large cauldron at their desk. She got so caught up with the lighting and preparations that she didn’t notice George come in. 

“Hey,” he called out timidly from the door. “I erm brought your shoes.”

The nervous knot in her stomach returned. She’d spent all day dreading their evening alone together and now it was real. Any hope she had that she’d suddenly find him disgusting, disappeared. He still looked just as soft and glowing in the flickering fire as he had last night. 

She cocked her head in confusion at the strange blanket in his hands, resting underneath her black shoes.

“What’s that,” she asked nervously. 

Her palms grew sweaty as he turned to close the door and make his way over to her. If he’d brought a blanket to layout onto the floor and continue where they’d left off, she didn’t think she’d be able to refuse. 

“Geez, you’re nosey,” he shot back, before smiling and placing it onto the table behind theirs. 

She stared at him, waiting for an answer and trying not to think about the butterflies in her chest. The self-control she’d been mustering all day was dissolving with every step closer he took. 

“You have to keep it a secret,” he said. 

Seemingly satisfied by her furious nodding, he continued. “It’s an invisibility cloak, just in case Snape decides to check-in on you and I have to disappear.”

“Really? That’s brilliant! Where did you get it?” she asked excitedly, abandoning the boiling potion water behind her to run a hand against the curious fabric in disbelief. George was, if nothing else, full of surprises. 

“That’s a secret too,” he warned. “Potter lent it to me.”

“Can you show me?”

He shook his head and smiled. “We’ve got work to do!”

“George, please!”

“We can play with the cloak after your shift, how about that?” he teased.

She squinted at him playfully and nodded. “Yes, sir.” 

His jaw clenched slightly as she said it, making him look almost angry but he looked away before she could decipher his mood. 

George seemed to be keeping more of a distance than usual as she explained the hybrid version of the swelling solution she was brewing. Instead of taking the seat next to her, he took one at the table a row ahead, turning his chair to face her and the cauldron from across the table. She tried to hide her disappointment and added the puffer fish eye and bat nettles powders into the boiling water before flicking her wand over the solution. 

“Now we wait about an hour before adding the bat-spleen, and the secret ingredient,” she muttered half to herself and half to George while setting her watch timer. 

“Secret ingredient?” he asked, smugly smiling up at her from over the cauldron. “Someone’s enjoying themselves.”

“Don’t gloat,” she said coyly, pulling up a chair to sit across from him. 

They sat awkwardly for a few minutes, pretending to watch the potion, and avoiding each other’s eyes until George broke the silence. 

“The great house of Slytherin isn’t missing you tonight?”

She shrugged. “No, everyone’s at a party in the Durmstrang dorms. Apparently, their headmaster doesn’t really care what they get up to.” 

“Oh,” he said quietly. “Sorry, I didn’t know that you had plans. I erm, can watch the potion if you want to go. "

She let out a sharp laugh. “Please, I should be thanking you for giving me an excuse not to go.”

He seemed relieved and let a shy smile pulls his lips upward. “You don’t like parties,” he half asked, half stated. 

“No, not small ones anyway,” she mused playfully. “I typically prefer much larger ones with loads more people and noise.” 

He snorted a small laugh and leaned forward to perch both elbows on the table. 

“Then what do you like?”

She watched the little waxy fires surrounding them flicker in his toffee eyes for a moment before leaning forward in his same manner and answering. 

“Well this isn’t too bad,” she stated before instantly feeling the pang of regret at how affectionate her words sounded. She cleared her throat and changed the subject. “Um, but I would have to say that I like home the best…being home with my parents and little sister, Olivia.”

“I didn’t know you had a sister,” he exclaimed, looking shocked. “What house is she in?”

“Well none, yet. Um, she’s only ten but she’ll be here next year.”

“You two get along?” He asked.

“Oh yeah. She’s my best friend,” she admitted quietly. “I talked poor Ginny’s ear off about her earlier this week. They’re alarmingly similar.”

The candlelight flicked across his face and she couldn’t help but feel her stomach knot up a little more. She liked having this kind of honest and calm conversation with him. It was nice not having to joke or be at each other’s throats with witty comments. George smiled and rested his head on his hands before continuing

“Little sisters,” he mused. “Definitely not to be underestimated.”

Violet giggled and again mimicked his movements, resting her chin in her hands and leaning forward, closing the small space between them on the table so they were merely a few inches apart. “I bet Ginny keeps you guys in line.”

“As much as anybody could,” he admitted, laughing at some memory that she couldn’t see. “So next year I’ll have to deal with another Wilkes?”

“Yes, how very unlucky for you.”

She watched George frown slightly as the words left her mouth and could tell that the tension from earlier in the week was creeping upon them. If she had wanted to, she could’ve reached out and tucked his hair behind his ear but she used the self-control she’d been practicing all day to keep her hands underneath her chin. 

“If she’s anything like you…then I’m sure I’ll like her,” he admitted slowly, avoiding her eyes. 

She swallowed nervously and hoped he wouldn’t elaborate on that thought, the butterflies in her chest couldn’t take it. 

“She’s like me, but better,” she whispered. “If you can believe it."

George shook his head and smiled incredulously. “Impossible."

Silence hung between them and she let herself regard him with appreciative eyes and a sheepish smile. She knew that it was much too intimate and that she was giving in to her desires too much but George Weasley in candlelight seemed to be her ultimate weakness.

“I bet she’ll like you,” she said gently, hoping to change the subject soon but desperately wanting to tell the boy sitting in front of her, her whole life story. “Fred, not so much though.” 

“I won’t blame her,” George finally returned her gaze and chuckled. “But she’ll have to tell us apart first.”

She giggled with him and rolled her eyes. “Not a problem, I’ll give her my secret.” 

He dropped his smile and stared at her. “Your secret?”

His sudden seriousness caught her off guard. Maybe this was a sore subject? She dropped her gaze and thought seriously about how to navigate her answer without sounding too infatuated with him. Was there another way out of it? Was there another way to explain herself other than she’d stared long enough to tell them apart? Or that she could pick him out of a room of a million clones? She felt like she knew him completely, and at the same time, not at all. 

“Yes,” she whispered. “I mean…it’s just a stupid trick.” 

His eyes were still on her when she looked up, soft and inquisitive. “What is it?” 

She glanced down at his neck and then back up to his eyes. “Well I would know as soon as you opened your mouth but — George, honestly it’s just silly.” 

“Please, I wanna know,” he whispered.

It was the softest plea she’d ever heard. There was an overwhelming sense that the answer meant something to him, so she took a deep breath and hoped it wouldn’t disappoint him.

“It’s your neck,” she said, tentatively reaching up to trace the left side of her own neck, mimicking where the dots might be. “You have two moles, just there… and um Fred doesn’t.”

He furrowed his brow and she quickly dropped her hand and leaned away from him, resting on the back of her chair.

“How did you come up with that?” He asked in quiet disbelief. 

She looked down at her hands on the table. “Do you want the honest answer or one that won’t freak you out?”

She heard him chuckle but didn’t lookup. “Go on then, Vi, freak me out.” 

She took a deep breath and debated on running from the room. The answer itself was out on the table but that wasn’t what she was worried about. To explain it, she’d have to admit to him, and even to herself, that she’d been paying attention to him longer than either of them knew. 

“We had Herbology together last year and you never stopped talking so…I would stare at your neck and fantasize about slitting your throat to shut you up,” she mumbled quickly.

“Are you serious?” 

“Yep,” she whispered, finally gaining enough courage to meet his gaze again. 

She was surprised to see that instead of quiet realization or horror, he was regarding her with sparkling eyes and a bemused smile. “You’ve fantasied about me?”

She scoffed and raised her eyebrows. “Yeah, but about killing you, so it’s hardly a compliment.”

“Still counts,” he said, with a wink.

“You’re delusional,” she mused. 

“Maybe, but at least I’m not a psychopath,” he retorted jokingly. 

She rolled her eyes and stared back, unsure of where to take the conversation next. If that wasn’t an admittance of feelings, then what was? She regretted ever saying anything but secretly hoped he’d admit something just as embarrassing next. 

“So you’ll tell your sister about my neck?” 

He was having too much fun with this information. 

“Yes, so she’ll know which one of you to strangle.” 

Unfortunately, her threats never seemed to hit their mark with him. 

He chuckled. “Sounds like she’ll make a great addition to Slytherin.”

“No,” she admitted, trying to hide the sudden sadness in her voice. “She won’t be in Slytherin.” She suddenly realized how hard she had been trying not to think of this exact thing all year. It hurt too much to allow herself to miss Olivia, but thinking about her inevitable sorting, somehow felt worse.

“Really?” he furrowed his brow, clearly confused at the thought of family members not being sorted into the same house. 

“Yeah,” she replied. “I think she’d fit in anywhere but uh just not here.” She faked a smile hoping he wouldn’t catch on to the fact that it was the possibility of her sister being in Slytherin that made her sad, not that she could tell him why.

“Then I hope we get her,” he said, suddenly animated. “Fred and I’ll teach her all the secrets to our chaotic success, and how to best annoy you, of course.”

“You are pretty good at that,” she bit her lip and looked down at the table. 

He continued. “Also she’d have Ginny and they could have a great time keeping the both of us in line.” 

Violet smiled. His ability to be sweet always came out of nowhere and surprised her. The sentiments were kind and she could tell that he meant it. She was being honest, Olivia would like him. 

Maybe not as much as she did though.

“What about your family,” she inquired, desperate to turn the conversation away from the strange intimate one they were having. 

“You already know Fred, Ron, and Ginny, obviously. You’d probably recognize Percy, he graduated last year and was a giant git of a prefect while he was here. Then there’s the oldest two, Bill and Charlie, who both moved away from us to do exciting jobs far away.”

“What do they do?”

“Bill is a curse-breaker for Gringotts and Charlie works with dragons.” She could tell that he was proud of his family, even though it was hidden behind what looked like hundreds of layers of jokes and sarcasm. 

“That’s brilliant,” she exhaled.

“Nah, they’re not so great.”

“Well my parents own a small cafe so my threshold for cool jobs is pretty low,” she watched him study her face as she talked. 

“Now that is brave work,” he said, slamming his hand down on the desk in fake conviction. They burst into brief giggles before a light bulb turned on above her head. 

“Wait, I heard something about dragons the other day,” she nodded excitedly. “Sadie told me that the Durmstrangs found out that the first challenge of the tournament is something to do with dragons!”

She waited for his eyes to widen in disbelief but George didn’t look surprised in the slightest at what she thought would be incredible news to him. He huffed a little and then rolled his eyes.

“Those sodding Northmen don’t know how to keep their mouths closed,” he mumbled. 

"You already knew?”

“Of course! Charlie’s the one bringing them over from Romania.”

“Really?” 

“Yeah, he’ll be here next weekend.”

Violet practically leaped up from the table energetically. “You’ll get to see them up close then? The dragons?”

“Yeah, I suppose Charlie will want to show us,” he mused, looking a little surprised at her sudden excitement.

“Wow,” she sighed. “Promise that you’ll tell me all about it after?”

George smiled coyly and looked up to meet her gaze. “How about you just come with us?”

A shudder ran down her spine at the invitation. As if she could be more involved with the Weasley family than she already was. 

“No, George, I wouldn’t want to intrude. I’m sure your brother will just want to see you guys, not some random girl.” 

“You aren’t just some random girl,” he furrowed his brow and leaned back into his chair. “Besides, Charlie is a great big gloating git who will love having somebody other than us to show off to.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, it’s non-negotiable.”

Before she could stop herself, she reached across the table and grabbed one of his hands. 

“That’s going to be incredible,” she sighed. “I can’t tell you how excited I am.”

Silence fell between them but she didn’t pull back her hand. She stared at their hands together and gave in to her urges by tenderly stroking the outside of his palm, down to the tip of his pinky, over and over until he moved and laced his fingers with hers on top of the table. He was already staring at her by the time she dragged her eyes up to his face. She watched his throat bob underneath the two moles on his neck. 

Neither of them spoke or even smiled, just stared. 

The candlelit, tender moment, nearly knocked the wind out of her. 

She felt terrible that every time they touched each other she felt like running, but perhaps it was for the best. 

George cleared his throat and broke their trance first. 

“Do you want to see the invisibility cloak?”

“Yes please,” she responded excitedly. Maybe he was beginning to feel the same as her, or maybe he could sense her apprehension, but either way, he pulled his hand away first. 

The rest of the hour was spent playing a game they’d made up where one person dawned the cloak and stood somewhere in the room, for the other to guess. When her watch beeped, alerting them that it was time to finish the potion, the score was 5-4 with her in the lead after pulling off an incredible, silent summit to the top of a desk. 

“Alright,” she said, looming over the boiling cauldron. “In goes the bat spleen.”

“So what’s your secret ingredient potions master,” George teased, standing beside her, holding her stirring spoon. 

“I’m so glad you asked my darling assistant,” she began, ignoring the eye roll from George. “I’ve been thinking — since each ingredient in a potion interacts with the others to produce a very specific effect, are there some ingredients that exist to function in the same exact way, regardless of what you mix them with? I’ve been cross-referencing potions that are odorless and tasteless and found one common denominator, Jobberknoll Feathers. So, I think that adding it should allow the Swelling solution to act as it normally does while making it completely undetectable in the toffee. What do you think?”

“That — that’s brilliant,” he whispered under his breath, eyeing the cauldron underneath them. 

She gave the potion one final stir and took the feathers from her bag before crushing them and sprinkling them into the cauldron. They dissolved into the solution without altering the appearance in the slightest and she waited on bated breath for the scent to disappear. 

“Just give it a second,” she whispered, half to herself and half to George. 

She saw him nod out of the corner of his eye and lean in closer so that his chin was almost resting on her shoulder. 

It felt like hours but a few minutes later the steam rising from the pot no longer held the swelling solution’s signature sour scent. She inhaled deeply a few times to double-check and held back a squeal of delight before turning to George. 

“I think it worked,” she exclaimed, tapping him on the chest. “Someone will just have to taste it but now you should be able to put it in whatever you want and no one will be the wiser!”

He stood motionless for a second, with a curious look on his face before breaking into a proud grin and stretching his arms out towards her. Without a second thought, she jumped to wrap her arms around his neck, letting him hold her waist and lift her into a bear hug. She hung in his arms for a second before abandoning logic and wrapping her legs around his pelvis and squeezing him tight. 

“I can’t believe it,” George whispered into her neck, standing up straight to hold her in his arms.

“You doubted me?” she challenged, keenly aware of his hands moving across the back of her jeans to hold her up, and the goosebumps littering her skin.

“Well I did think it would take you a couple of tries,” he half-whispered, half laughed.

She leaned back in his arms to look him in the eye, ignoring the familiar heat creeping up from her navel as her hips pressed into his. 

“I’m not to be underestimated,” she cooed.

“I know.”

As he said it, he released a hand from underneath her and ran his thumb against the remaining bruising on her cheek, tucking the rest of his fingers underneath her chin, angling her face up at him. 

“I really am sorry about that bruise,” he whispered.

The heat between her hips sat slightly above his own, but the proximity was making her yearn for more friction. He ran his thumb against her jaw, and his eyes flitted there before timidly lingering on her lips. She should've jumped out of his arms but, she couldn't.

“I’m sorry I never took you up on your offer,” she whispered back, her breath hitching in her throat as his thumb caressed her bottom lip. 

He furrowed his brow and smiled. “What offer?”

“To punch you in the face.”

His laughter shook both of their bodies and he dropped his hand from her face to hold her body in place. “I forgot about that, what were my words, exactly?”

She pretended to think for a moment, to hide the fact that she’d read his apology letter close to one hundred times. Surely he could feel her heartbeat slamming against her own ribcage, and into his chest. 

“You said that you’d submit to my needs willingly,” she glanced down at his lips. Even in the orange glow, she could see his blush splotching on his neck before traveling to his cheeks. 

Was this it? An acknowledgment of the tension? A shift in their relationship? She pondered not breaking the ice, jumping out of his arm, and running from the classroom but lifted herself a little higher and tightened her arms around his neck instead, bringing them closer together. Her brain screamed at her to remember the things she’d been chanting to herself all day about not getting into this kind of situation, and how it was best to remain friends. 

Friends didn’t hold friends this way. His eyes met hers. Friends didn’t look at friends that way, at least, not that she could remember.

“I meant it, too,” he said softly. 

She giggled and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m not going to punch you, George.” 

“You sure?” He leaned closer to brush his nose against hers.

She nodded. “Yeah, I’m gonna do something much, much worse.”

He smiled and brought his hand back up to her cheek, cupping it gently. The movement made her gasp for breath, sucking in his cinnamon scent, letting it burn her throat and lungs. His nose moved against hers slowly but stopped before he got too close like he was testing the waters, ready for her to run away again. She wanted to badly to ignore it all; Slytherin, Gryffindor, pure-blood, half-blood, and kiss him. Gorge herself on the momentary relief of friction that he could give her but it wouldn’t be temporary and she didn’t know if she could handle the consequences.

The intense bubbling sound of the cauldron next to them made her jump slightly and suddenly jogged her better judgment. 

“Oh shit, the potion,” she stammered, clearing her throat and moving a leg towards the ground. “I have to get it off the heat or it’ll be useless.” 

George’s fingers lingered on her backside and face for a moment before he set her back down on the ground. She couldn’t look up at him and focused all her attention on the task at hand. She clawed at her brain for something else to say to relieve the tension that she’d help build but couldn’t come up with anything. 

He watched her work in silence and she ignored the lingering heat between her thighs and focused on pouring the solution into a bottle, and clearing the room of all evidence that they’d been there. She motioned for him to join her cleaning efforts and it was a little after midnight by the time she locked the classroom back up and snuck through the dungeon with George in tow. 

“What are you doing this weekend,” he asked just before she was able to escape into the common room. Anxious that a Slytherin would catch them lurking in the middle of the night, she answered quickly. 

“Library,” she ignored his intense stare and shoved the big bottle of swelling solution into his hands, fumbling for a second as he handed her the pair of shoes in return. 

She muttered the password so he couldn’t hear and shooed him away. 

“See you on Monday,” he called back to her with a sad wave, before turning and walking away.

_______

_She watched the figure fleeing down the Hogwarts lawn. It was inexplicable; part of her DNA, to hate it. They ran towards her where she hid in the forbidden forest, remaining unseen. Her right arm itched and stung but she couldn’t put down her wand to quell the ache. She could hear their breathing now and turned her throbbing arm towards the figure; unable to stop as the green flash from her wand illuminated her own face, screaming ‘traitor.’_

She woke with a start, grasping for any pillow or blanket on the bed to anchor her to reality and put a stop to the subconscious thoughts crashing against her memory of last night. Opening her eyes, she counted the stones on the wall until the image of her face bathed in green light went away. The images left but the sound of her own voice chanting _traitor_ remained. 

Was she really a traitor? 

Could she betray something that didn’t even want her in the first place?

The notion was ridiculous, and yet her subconscious had made a point to worry about it. Technically, the Weasleys were a pureblood family, making them far closer to the image of Salazar Slytherin than she was. But that fact was always thrown to the wind whenever her housemates talked about them. Despite this forgotten similarity, they differed from the more traditional Slytherin legacies with a combination of the family’s know affinity for muggles and disinterest in wealth and hierarchy. And yet again, these traits were more in line with her and her own family, so who was she really betraying?

If anything, they had betrayed her and her family first. But her colleagues wouldn’t care about that. All they would see is a half-blood traitor with a muggle loving Gryffindor and call it fate. 

She pressed her pillow against her ears and tried to tune out the world. Why couldn’t she throw caution to the wind? Why didn’t she let George kiss her? She only had two years left at Hogwarts, and the opinions of her peers didn’t matter to her that much, and yet every time he got close, she ran.

Her need for self-preservation clashed endlessly with the knowledge that their taunts wouldn’t be the end of the world and yet she was no closer to knowing what to do about George.

She felt her subconscious attempt to sabotage her by reminding her that it was entirely possible that he held no special flame for her at all, and that his affections were a direct result of their general proximity and a fun way for him to pass the time. It wouldn’t be unheard of seeing as, she’d often seen Fred hidden in hallway corners with various girls from different houses but she couldn’t remember if she’d ever seen George do the same, or even heard rumors of any romantic entanglements.

But last night….if someone had seen them last night…they would’ve thought the two surely had feelings for each other.

The sinking feeling that he could like her as more than a joke or a friend gnawed at her mind as images of him caressing her face, or regarding her with a tender look, flashed behind her eyelids. She couldn’t tell which would be worse because she couldn’t even get her own feelings straight. 

Again, her head ached with the ever-changing possibilities and before it could turn into a migraine, she quickly got dressed and marched to the library to fill her head with problems from her homework that were solvable.

Hermione greeted her with a small, distracted wave as she entered the corner of the library, before burying herself behind a tower of books, mumbling quietly as she continued reading.

The trees were particularly faded by autumn air today so she abandoned her chair and tucked herself into the cushions that lined the bench-like window sill, and looked out onto the courtyard. She pressed her forehead to the cool glass and began writing an essay for Defense Against the Dark Arts. The peaceful scene around her ensured that all of the daunting source material stayed on the pages of her book and parchment, and not to run rampant through her head. 

It had been nearly a week since she’d picked back up on her research through the 1981 book or even stared suspiciously at Malfoy, but the George Weasley situation had taken too much of her mental capacity to worry about impending doom.

After more than a few hours, the late afternoon sun beat through the window and onto Violets face, she let the light wash over her and relished in the peaceful silence of a beautiful cool autumn day spent indoors. Exhaling in relief, she looked down at her now finished essay, the rest of the evening was for her to do as she pleased. If she were home, her mom would’ve made her a decaf latte as they sat in front of the fireplace discussing what books they’d read recently. 

She frowned. But she wasn’t home, so instead, she’d just have to wander to dinner alone and then find something to do until she could track down Sadie. 

She brought her books with her to dinner, just to have something to occupy her time in-between bites, and plopped the full bag onto the seat next to her, ensuring that no lurking Slytherin boys could scoot near her. 

Glancing up at the room before helping herself to the Shepards pie in front of her, she paused to watch a sulking Ginny walk into the Great Hall, stuck between her two excitedly chattering brothers. 

Poor girl. 

Her own limited time with both twins was exhausting enough and she couldn’t imagine what it would be like to live, eat, and breathe with the pair of them.

Ginny saw her not a second later, perking up a bit as she spotted the free seat across from her, and after successfully dodging away from her brothers, she made her way to the Slytherin table. Violet watched the twins narrow in on her trajectory and begin to follow before Ginny turned and hissed at them rather assertively, but she looked away before the altercation was finished. 

“Can I sit here,” Ginny asked breathlessly a minute later, gesturing to the bench across from her. She glanced up to see the twins sitting at the table behind them, and from their expressions, it was clear that they were nursing some hurt feelings.

“Of course,” she said, smiling up at the redhead. And she meant it. Her conversation with Ginny was a pleasant surprise last week and it was clear that the girl needed a break from family. 

“Thanks,” she mumbled, climbing into the seat. 

She could hear the twins disgruntled whispers from across the aisle but before she could discern what they were saying, Ginny whipped around and hissed, “George, I’ll do it.” 

Both twins glanced at Ginny and then at her before looking down at their meals in silence. 

“You’ve got them well trained,” she mused. “What’s your secret?”

Ginny finally smiled and met her eyes. “Threats mostly, but I almost never have to resort to violence.”

She laughed and caught Georges’s eyes over his sister’s shoulder. He gave her a small smile before looking away and starting a conversation with Lee and Fred. 

“What’s your threat this time?”

“I told them I’d tell mom that they’re holding a girl at school hostage, and making her help them with their business,” she said, producing a wicked smile. 

She shot her a glare in disbelief and ignored the butterflies in her stomach at the thought of their mom knowing she exists. 

“Ginny, they aren’t forcing me against my will,” she corrected her. 

“Blink twice if you need my help,” the redhead said with a wink.

“They made me a good offer,” she rolled her eyes and continued. “Besides, I kind of like helping George.”

“And Fred?” Ginny’s wicked smile returned. 

She winced as Ginny pointed out her mistake and hoped that the twins were not eavesdropping.

“Yes both of them, and the business or whatever it is,” she blurted, scrambling for some dignity. “How’s the book?”

The young witch shot her one more smug look before thankfully deciding to let her fumble slide. 

“I’m only on chapter four but I like it a lot so far,” she mused. “I do have a question though.”

“Ok, shoot.”

“Who’s the man in black?”

“Ginny, I’m not going to spoil the story for you,” she scoffed.

“Oh c’mon, just tell me!"

“Absolutely not. Besides, you find out in chapter five, so you’re almost there."

Ginny rolled her eyes but kept her jovial expression. “Fine, I’ll be patient.” 

They spent the rest of dinner talking about Ginny’s classes, her favorite subject was charms but she was having some trouble in transfiguration and Violet was more than happy to offer her services. 

“You can find me in the library anytime,” she assured her young friend as the meal came to a close. “And I’ll drop anything to help you, I promise.”

“That’s really nice, thanks, Violet.” Ginny spun around and stood up in the aisle but turned back to Violet just before she sat down with her brothers, “I can see why George likes you so much.” 

Butterflies exploded in her chest and she hoped the three Weasley’s now looking at her couldn’t see the blush rising on her face. She made sure not to catch George’s eyes on the way out and scurried away. 

Had he talked about her? What did he say? 

No. No. No, _no_. 

It didn’t matter. 

She shook the thought from her head and practically flew back down to the dungeons, through the common room, landing on her bed in a huff. 

Sadie returned to their room shortly after and spent the night briefing Violet with nearly a week’s worth of gossip. She’d heard that Potter had gotten some seventh year to put his name in the Goblet for him and that Krum had a crush on a Gryffindor girl, but she couldn’t figure out who. However, she was most pleased to report that Graham Montague had reportedly broken up with the Beauxbatons girl he’d been seeing. Exhaustion washed over her before Sadies report was finished so she promised her friend that they’d take a lap around the lake tomorrow morning for a full briefing.

_________

Sunday morning was gloomy and grey but Violet kept her promise to walk outside with Sadie. They dawned on jeans, turtlenecks, and coats, and laughed at their accidentally coordinated all-black outfits. 

“Well somebody’s gotta keep the joyless Slytherin stereotype alive,” Sadie concluded, looking at their reflections in the mirror. 

By the time they emerged onto the Hogwarts lawn and started down the lakeside path, it was 10 am and the sun still wasn’t visible through the clouds. Violet linked her arm with Sadies and they skipped down the red and yellow covered path giggling breathlessly and trying to trip each other down the hill.

“I heard another interesting rumor yesterday,” Sadie said when they’d made it a few yards around the edge of the lake.

“Oh yeah?” She asked.

“Well it’s more of a mystery really,” she mused, kicking some rocks into the lake. 

“Go on then, the suspense is killing me.”

“Well, you know how on Friday night, most of the house was at the Durmstrang dorms?”

Violet nodded and waited for her friend to continue. 

“Ok so Pansy was supposed to walk with us but she got caught up with something and ended up leaving the common room around 10.”

_Oh no._

“Alright, and?” She gulped, hoping the story would veer off into something other than what she was suspecting. 

“Well Pansy swears that she saw one of the Weasley twins running down the hall outside the common room,” Sadie concluded with her eyebrows raised in excitement. “Isn’t that strange?”

_Fuck._

She tried not to look intrigued and casually asked, “Which one was it?”

“Oh blimey, I have no clue. As if anyone can tell them apart.” 

Her mind was blank of what to say next. She couldn’t ask anything else for fear of peaking Sadie’s suspicion but she also couldn’t tell if her friend was already skeptical about her whereabouts that evening. She made a mental note to yell at George later about why he would bring a bloody invisibility cloak with him and not use it. 

“I’d just check under your chair in potions tomorrow,” Sadie said. 

“What?” She asked, broken from her train of thought. 

“My first thought was that George was coming down there to bug you again. I know he apologized and all for the black-eye thing but I won’t hesitate to beat the shit out of him if he’s still pranking you.”

“Oh,” she sighed. “No, he’s not and I didn’t see him that night. But I wouldn’t put it past him to plant something at our desk, good idea.” 

“What a loser. Doesn’t he have anything else to do with his time? Maybe he has a crush on you or something.”

“Sadie, how’s Anastas?” she asked hastily, hoping to draw the conversation away from her and George. Just as she’d hoped, her friend began summarizing the party on Friday night and how Theo Knott couldn’t keep his eyes off of her while she was sitting in the large Durmstrang boy’s lap.

They made it back from the lake just as lunch was starting and despite being sweaty, dressed in matching outfits, and giggling like lunatics, they skipped into the Great Hall and ate lunch with their peers, happily ignoring strange glances thrown their way. 

She was still in a great mood by the time she got to the library, and it only got better when she heard the familiar pattern of raindrops against the tall gothic windows. Violet stayed in the library until way past her dinner and bedtime, after getting caught up reading up on the poly juice potion that she’d have to begin brewing on Friday. It was incredibly complex and upon reading the instructions she ran into a detail that she’d almost forgotten and have to bring up to George tomorrow morning. Madam Pince finally shooed her out of her chair around eleven, and Violet nearly passed out as soon as she stepped foot into her room. Her mind was still swirling from a fun weekend well-spent, so that night, Death Eaters didn’t dare plague her dreams.


	15. The Library

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Thanks so much for reading! I'd love some more feedback if you get the chance. Enjoy!

_The potions classroom._

_His lips sinking into her collar bone._

_Her hand gripping red hair._

_‘Violet’ his voice said. ‘Violet, Violet, Violet, Violet.’_

“Violet,” Sadie yelled, startling her awake. “Turn off your bloody alarm.”

“Sorry, sorry,” she said back, rolling over to turn off the clock, ignoring the ache between her legs from the lewd images in her dream. 

She quietly stood up and got ready for the day, making sure not to rouse the beast still asleep in her roommates bed. She haphazardly threw on her uniform, looking into the mirror to straighten out her skirt and sweater more than usual, telling herself that it wasn’t because of the man who plagued her dreams. Her hair elastic was nowhere to be found this morning so she tucked her chin-length bangs behind her ears and let her long wavy hair hang past her shoulders and down her back, glancing in the mirror a final time before rushing off to potions

George wasn’t there yet so she opened her textbook and shook out the recipe for polyjuice potion that she’d scribbled onto some parchment last night. She was nervous to run her plan for the complex potion by him and hoped he wouldn’t take her idea the wrong way. After their moment at this very desk a few days ago, she doubted that there was anything she could do to steer their relationship back to friendlier shores, but she was going to try, regardless. It would take some maneuvering, and possibly require her to put her foot down but it was for the best. Regardless of this decision, a little voice in the back of her head whispered discouraging sentiments. George had a habit of not listening to her, what made her think this would be any different? She’d said that they should keep things professional and yet he pounced at every chance he got close to her. She couldn’t tell if the intimate nature of his movements was to make her uncomfortable, to get what he wanted, or something else…something worse. The voice made her focus on the last option, imagining what would happen if she confronted him about needing some space. Her mind flooded her with visuals of the conversation where George would ignore all of it and ravish her deliciously to get her to shut up. The thought poisoned her mind and her focus on the potion recipe in front of her waned. She was so focused on steering herself back to safety, that she didn’t hear George come up behind her.

“Your hair is long,” he said, sliding into the chair next to her, making her jump. 

“Godric, you need to stop scaring me like that,” she hissed breathlessly, thankful he couldn’t read minds. “What did you say?”

He smiled and shook his head at her instantaneous irritation. “I said, your hair is long.”

“And?” She responded, shooting him an annoyed look. “So is yours, if you haven’t noticed.”

“Geez Vi, who pissed in your pumpkin juice this morning?”

“Nobody,” she snapped. “I’m actually in a great mood today.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he teased. 

She glared at him, unsure of what his problem was with her initial response. 

“You’re right, I’m sorry for being rude. Thank you ever so much for commenting on the length of my hair. It was incredibly thoughtful of you to finally notice after seeing me nearly every day for the past month.”

“That’s more like it,” he said with an approving, smug smile. 

“You’re insufferable.”

“What? Am I not being sweet enough for you?”

Her eyes widened in surprise. What a git. He was making fun of her. 

“What did you just say?” she hissed angrily. 

His smile widened and she saw something drift over his satisfied expression. If she was less attuned to his facial expressions, it could’ve been mistaken for anger, but it was something different. His stare was always intense but today, he was boring into her head as if he was trying to memorize every variation of color in her eyes. A shiver went down her spine as she watched his iris’s flush, turning his mischievous eyes, black. 

“I said, am I not being sweet enough for you, Violet,” he questioned slowly, barely moving his mouth.

His question delicately dribbled from his lips and poured into the space between them. She cocked an eyebrow in distrust but it seemed to egg him on. He was riling her up, that much was clear but she couldn’t tell why. He’d chosen to bring up a rather intimate and sweet moment between them and twist it into something to taunt her with. Surely she was mistaken to think that the animalistic expression on his face was anything other than anger because, despite his crooked smile, he looked positively livid.

“You’re being a prick,” she stammered. "Save it for later because I have something important to talk to you about.”

“Is it about whether or not you should get a haircut,” he asked, faking a thoughtful look.

“Will you cut it out, it’s urgent and you need to know today or —“ 

“Because personally, I like it the way it is,” he dipped his chin with the last word and leaned in a little closer so that just she could hear his quiet words. She studied his face wordlessly trying to make sense of the mood he was in.

“George, —”

“But then again, short might be a good change of pace,” he whispered. “You should let me do it. I’m very gifted with my — ” 

“Will you shut up about my hair, I have to tell you — ”

Snape slammed the classroom door and cut off her next wave of anger directed at the overly confident redhead who was clearly relishing in his ability to get under her skin. 

Their professor continued last week’s lesson on the Cure for Boils and other medicinal potions but no amount of interesting ingredient factoids or monotonous lecturing could quell her simmering anger and nerves. He kept a smug smile glued to his lips as he watched Snape as if he could feel her anger marinating in her mind. She knew she shouldn’t let him rile her up that easily but she’d let her guard down and grown more accustomed to the sweet George, and less keen on whatever version of him sitting next to her now. 

She glanced over at him and swore that in the dim lighting, she saw the mask slip. His haughty attitude shifted to a certain kind of sadness for just a moment and with it, her anger waned. His hair covered most of his face in a vibrant curtain but she could see the place where his eyes crinkled when he smiled through the strands. He wasn’t smiling, or frowning — just staring at his hands on the desk in some sort of a trance. She noticed the expression as one of a man deep in thought. If she had to wager a guess, she’d predict that he was sorting himself out, internally. It always seemed like he was teetering between so many versions of himself, indecisive about which one he wanted her to see and constantly overthinking where and when to present each of them. He switched back and forth, depending on who was around, and always looked like he was deep in contemplation about what to say next. She couldn’t blame him, especially with a reputation like his to maintain, but it was a mystery as to which one was real. Did the real George blush when she called him sweet or was he the one that used her words against her? Did he rile her up in playful banter, or actually want to see her angry? She looked away before he could come out of his trance and felt guilt creep in as she was prone to putting her own thoughts into other people’s heads. 

After class, Lee pulled George away before she could even get a word out which made her even more frustrated with her inability to get the redhead to listen to her plan and she spent the majority of Ancient Runes and lunch stewing about it. She half hoped to see Fred in the hallway on her walk to the library so that she could relay the plan to him instead and cut George out completely, but he was nowhere to be found. She stood outside the entrance to the moving staircase, in one last attempt but she ran into Hermione instead and decided to abandon her mission to pester the busy witch about polyjuice potion. 

“I’ve made it but it was rather difficult,” Hermione said thoughtfully as they walked into the library. “Why do you want to know?”

“It’s just one of the only realistic potions that I haven’t tried yet,” Violet lied. “Does it really take a month?”

“Yes but most of the time is just spent letting it simmer,” she answered. “How’d you get the recipe?”

“Snape gave me access to the restricted potion books ages ago and I’ve had it copied down in the back of a textbook for years,” she lied again, hoping that it sounded convincing. “I’ve just never tried it.”

“Oh. Well, you should be able to manage. The worst part was getting all the bloody ingredients though,” Hermione said, sitting down at her usual spot, disappearing behind a stack of books. “Do let me know if you end up trying it.”

A few hours passed before Hermione said goodbye and let Potter drag her off to Godric only knows where. Despite the loneliness of the corner, Violet remained glued to her homework, only moving for a change of scenery, to sit on the window sill and watch the sunset. 

The purple and blue sky reminded her of the black eye she’d had just last week. She focused her vision on her reflection in the glass and searched the last remaining sheen of her bruise. Had it really only been last week? Usually, her days at Hogwarts bled together, only distinguishing themselves by Sadies gossip, which potions she was brewing and holidays, but now, each day seemed to last at least a century. She had done and felt more in this last month than she had in almost her entire time at Hogwarts.

It was nice to have time move a little slower but the whole year stretched far ahead in front of her, meaning there was so much left in store. This felt more daunting than anything, especially because of her discovery that as happy as she could be with George and their strange new friendship, the reverse was true as well. The sadness that she’d felt this morning at George’s dismissiveness hadn’t moved from her chest and she was having a difficult time deciphering why it was bogging her mood down completely. On her walk back down to her room, it had become impossible to ignore. Even though she’d seen George this morning, a melancholy cloud hung over her head about not getting to speak with him or even see him again all day. She felt silly for missing his attentiveness but was fearful of what might’ve caused the shift. Maybe Ginny’s comment on Saturday had scared him off, or maybe he’d grown bored of her already. She wasn’t used to missing anyone besides her family and even then, she went nearly a whole six months without seeing them and never felt too terrible. 

The unfamiliar feeling wouldn’t go away, even as she tossed and turned in bed, and she wondered what it meant to miss someone whom she saw nearly every day. Before she saw his face, she dreaded it, and then as soon as he was gone, a heavy feeling rippled through her chest as if she was saying goodbye to him for the last time. It was unreasonable, that much she knew, but no matter how much she reassured herself that he would come and find her the next day and make her regret ever missing him, the deep feeling remained. In place of her longing, she opted to reassess the anger that George had spurred this morning. The thought didn’t keep her up much longer as the possibility of seeing George’s face in her dreams pulled her into a deep sleep.

Violet woke up still angry about George’s indifference to her urgent news regarding their next round of product invention and continued to stew on his uninterested attitude throughout Herbology. She flicked the dangerous plant in front of her to feign some interest but its bright red petals did a shit job of getting George off her mind. What bugged her most, she’d decided, is that he knew she needed to speak with him urgently and yet he didn’t even bother to find her in the library last night, or at breakfast this morning? For fucks sake, he was so desperate to speak with her last week that he’d sent a letter.

On her walk to lunch, she pulled out a book to hold in front of her face to hide the fact that she was deep in thought and didn’t put it down even when she sat at the almost empty Slytherin table. The pages brushed against her forehead, creating a safe house of paper stories and another world that she could delve into as an escape. Deep down, she knew that she was overreacting. She held no claim or ownership of his time and they’d never even hung out outside of the business, or class so there was no reason to be worked up about him not finding time for her. She chanted these sentiments over and over but the sliver of sadness remained because the piece of her that was desperate for self-preservation and fearful of any type of rejection, gnawed at her common sense. She exhaled the insecurities into the pages of her book and forced herself to actually read the words as she ate.

After half a sandwich and a few chapters of escape, her mind had calmed for just a few moments before a booming voice called her name from the entrance. The noise made her jump and she frantically put her book down, praying it wasn’t Anastas with some kind of tragic news about Sadie. Craning her neck, she searched for the culprit through the sea of the lunch rush until she saw Fred and George barreling towards her with excited looks on their faces. She made direct eye contact with George’s upbeat face and felt a pang of resentment as his unburdened features, clearly, she’d been the only one stuck wallowing in misery. She closed her book and waited patiently for them to make a beeline for the Gryffindor bench across the aisle from her but they didn’t.

_Oh no._

She shot a worried look down her table, and then back up at them, shaking her head as they got closer to the seats across from her, showing no signs of slowing down. Hopefully, Ginnys occasional visits to her table hadn’t made them think they could sit here too. The youngest Weasley was a bit more inconspicuous, and by far the least hated of the family so she didn’t worry about catching too much ridicule for letting her join her. But the twins were another story. There was no way she could be seen with them at her table.

“What are you doing,” she hissed as they got close enough to hear her. “You can’t sit here.” 

“Why,” Fred teased, ignoring her and taking a seat across from her anyway. “Are you waiting for your boyfriend?”

“Oi what are you talking about Freddie, Snape’s already sitting at the head table,” George responded with a shit-eating grin, scooting in next to him. 

She was sure she would’ve killed them both if her glare could’ve actually shot daggers. He’d been right yesterday, she thought, he wasn’t being sweet enough for her liking, in fact, he was being rather mean.

“I’m being serious, you need to get up now.” 

“Calm down Wilkes,” Fred said with fake concern. “You sat at our table just fine didn’t you?”

“That’s different and you know it. No one cares if you hang out with me, but I’ll never hear the end of it if Malfoy or anyone else sees that I let you sit here.”

“Violet,” George said quietly.

Uncaring for his suddenly soft demeanor she hissed back, “Get up now.”

“Are you really that embarrassed by us,” George asked, a little more seriously. 

“No that’s not it, I just don’t want to give them another reason to talk about me,” she hissed. 

She could feel herself failing miserably at hiding the anger boiling over in her chest. Why couldn’t he just listen, for once? 

“Another reason? What are you talking about?” George challenged, the darkness passing over his face with a serious glare. 

“It doesn’t matter, just go!” 

George was now looking very peeved and even more stubborn than before, despite Fred’s increasingly concerned demeanor. 

“No,” George hissed. “I thought you had something to tell us?”

“I tried to tell you yesterday but you wouldn’t listen, so I’m sure you’ll have no problem waiting a little longer!”

“Well, I’m here now so just spit it out!” She saw Fred from the corner of her eye glance to the Gryffindor table where Ginny was staring at them intently with a worried expression on her face. Great. Now she would think Violet was embarrassed by her too. George’s stubbornness was really starting to piss her off.

“I’m not doing this here. Just move!”

“Stop being so bloody difficult, we don’t want to be at the Slytherin table any more than you want us to be,” George spat. 

“Then go!”

“No!”

“Fine, you prick. Then I’ll go and you can leave me the fuck alone.” 

And with that, she ripped her bag from the seat next to her and ran out the door and towards the library, trying to avoid eye contact with the few Slytherins she passed along the way.

She managed to make it to her chair and hide her face behind her knees before the frustrated tears started falling. How did their discourse dissolve so quickly? She cursed herself for overthinking everything that George did but she just couldn’t help it. If she’d just kept her cool and got up as soon as they sat down, she could’ve avoided this mess. On the other hand, if George had just listened to her in potions yesterday, she wouldn’t have even been angry in the first place. She didn’t know who to blame but it didn’t matter because now she’d made a great dumb mountain out of a molehill. 

Was she always so angry or did he just know how to infuriate her quickly? His carefree, fun, joking attitude is what she hated about him a year ago, loved about him last week, and then hated again today and it was too confusing. The woman she was last year would’ve laughed in her face for crying over a boy being mean to her and she couldn’t shake the voice in the back of her head telling her to suck it up. She tried desperately to listen, and suck the tears back up into her head but they came hot and fast until she heard footsteps barreling down the center aisle. She turned towards the windows so that whoever it was wouldn’t be able to watch her wipe away her tears and prayed it wasn’t Hermione.

“Violet,” a familiar voice said as the footsteps stopped.

_Even worse._

She glanced up and watched George stumble over to her and sit down on the ottoman wordlessly, still wearing the upset expression from a few minutes ago. She stared back and furrowed her brow at his infuriating silence and air of superiority. Was he waiting for her to apologize? There was a tiny bit of concern in his expression, but she could tell he wasn’t in the mood to back down, and that was enough for her to erupt.

“You’re an annoying, smug, arse, you know that?” she spat, just quiet enough for the rest of the library to remain undisturbed. Her tears quickly came to a halt as her pride overwhelmed any sadness left. 

George looked taken aback but rage returned to his face as he registered her words. He looked the same as he did when she’d successfully cast the counter charm during their first conversation on the train. This time, it was nowhere near as satisfying. 

“And you’re an uptight, angry, swot,” he hissed back, leaning forward to get in her face. 

Worried that someone might walk by due to the noise, she stood up and grabbed him by the arm to drag him to a small space behind the back bookcase and a few large stacks of books, effectively concealing them from view. 

“I am not uptight,” she said, furrowing her brow and fighting to keep her tone appropriate for the library. “And it’s your fault that I’m angry!”

“Why? Because I sat at your precious table?” His face was only a few inches away now and she could feel the frustrated heat rising off of his body.

“That’s not it, and you know it,” she scoffed. 

“Then what is it, Violet?” He hissed. The only other time she’d seen him even remotely this angry was a few times on the Quidditch pitch when their house teams had played each other but this time, his anger wasn’t large and animated, it was twisted with sadness and frustration and directed at her.

“You didn’t listen to me on Monday and then you wouldn’t listen to me again today!”

“That’s why you’re upset? Cause I don’t do everything you say?”

“No! I’m upset because you don’t know when to be serious!” She exclaimed, gesturing to George wildly.

He looked taken aback and slightly hurt but recovered quickly. “Well, you don’t know when to relax!” 

“That’s not true!” Her better judgment told her to take a step back, to calm down, and walk away because she didn’t trust herself not to hurl another snake at him but she stayed firmly planted in place, remembering that she’d left her wand in her bag. 

He leaned closer, eyes on fire. “Or when take a joke!”

“Please enlighten me about what joke I’m missing here!”

“There is none!” He exclaimed, grabbing one of her arms. “You’re being ridiculous! I was just trying to compliment your hair on Monday but you got angry at me before I even sat down!”

“That’s not why I —“

“And I didn’t get to talk to you after that or see you all weekend so hex me for wanting to sit with you at lunch!”

Her heart was beating against her ribcage so hard, she was worried it might actually pop out. He’d missed her? 

“Yeah right,” she hesitated, trying to fully take in his confession. “You just want to make things difficult for me!”

“No, I don’t!”

“Yes, you do!”

“Violet, no I don’t!”

“Then what do you want?”

“I just want to be near you!” He admitted breathlessly, bringing his other hand up to tightly grip her chin. “But you make it impossible by always pushing me away!”

George held her tight as she attempted to literally push him away and roared over her when she tried to squeak out a small protest.

“I think you’re embarrassed by how much you like spending time with me, and you’re scared of what the rest of your pretentious Slytherins will say!”

“Shut up.”

“Violet, you said it yourself!”

“Stop it,” she weakly challenged him, trying to yank herself out of his grip. 

“You said yourself that you don’t want to give them a reason to talk about you!”

“THEY ALREADY TALK ABOUT ME!” 

She clasped a hand over her mouth as a few shh’s echoed towards them through the library and stared at his shocked face. He leaned in closer and furrowed his brow.

“So then why do you care?” 

George looked at her with angry and desperate eyes, breathing hard only an inch away from her face. She knew he couldn’t possibly understand her predicament but it wasn’t his fault. He didn’t know the whole story and she’d have to risk severing the bond between them to explain it fully, so instead, she abandoned logic.

She glanced down at his mouth, and tilted her head upwards, lightly caressing his nose with the tip of hers.

The contact made his breath against her face suddenly stop. He stared at her like she’d appeared out of nowhere, suddenly in front of him, inexplicably and silently begging to be touched. 

He let out a shaky breath, and tilted his face downwards, hesitantly, as if she was about to disappear in a poof of smoke if he moved too quickly. 

She blinked away from his lips, locking back onto his eyes. Wide, on fire, and in complete disbelief. He blinked, moving from her mouth to her eyes rapidly, over and over again, dipping his chin a little lower.

He thought she was going to run. 

She flicked down to his lips one last time and closed her eyes. 

That seemed to be answer enough for him as not a moment later, his mouth crashed onto hers. He was strong but hesitant, testing the waters again. Her brain screamed run, but she parted her lips and drowned herself in him. The tension, ache, and frustration left her body in a sharp gasp against his lips. He responded by pulling her in closer, by the waist, and by hair, until she’d practically disappeared into his chest.

Her body couldn’t react fast enough as his scent and taste overwhelmed her senses, burning her nose and throat with smokey sweetness. Their lips’ fought each other for dominance, closing over the others in an urgent sloppy rhythm. He held her tight, refusing to let her move, for fear that she would push him away again but she needed to be closer. 

She flung her arms around his neck, running fingers through his hair, pressing her full body weight against him. He grunted at the force and stumbled against the wall before giving into the momentum and sliding back against the smooth stone, and onto the carpeted floor, dragging her down with him.

She straddled him on the ground and moaned as her legs spread open on his lap. The pressure, the friction, the release she craved was so close to her core it made her dizzy. 

His tongue greedily explored the inside of her mouth, as he pushed past the base of her skirt to grip the tops of her bare thighs, pressing her into him harder and igniting the flame underneath her navel. 

“George,” she groaned into his mouth as his fingers toyed with the edge of her underwear. He broke their kiss and nibbled down her jaw. His tongue grazed over her neck, making her twitch and gasp. She felt him smile against her skin as he repeated the motion, over and over, leaving wet bruises just under her ear, making her bury her face in his hair to stifle a deep guttural moan.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled into her skin between kisses. He slid her skirt up and pressed his hands into the plush skin that covered her bare hip bones. 

She purred as his fingers toyed with the waistband of her underwear and reached down to recapture his lips, “Shut up.”

He groaned into her mouth, passionately gorging himself on her lips and tongue, his hands fumbling to grasp any bare skin that her uniform would allow. His wildness left her breathless and lightheaded, his touch leaving scorch marks against her skin. His fingers worked rigorous patterns into her hips and waist. The floodgates had opened and any semblance of the George who had tentatively caressed her cheek, or hair, was gone; replaced by a curious, craving wild man. 

She nibbled his bottom lip, drawing gasps and moans from the man pressing her against his lap with searing force. Her knees slid across the carpet as her pelvis met the bulge in his pants. It hit her core deliciously, coaxing a guttural hiss from her mouth. She rocked her aching center against him; over and over, successfully pulling a moan from deep in his chest. She swallowed his moans, and he swallowed hers. The desperate grinding of their hips and the electric release of pent of aggression and longing made her forget that they were still very much in public. 

_Shit_. 

The shuffling sound of books sorting themselves, and faint voices from alcoves far away drew her back to reality. Definitely, still in public.

The euphoria she’d been chasing would have to wait. She loosened her iron grip around his neck, and skated her hands down his neck, settling for a light touch against his chest. She slowed her movement and sat still across his lap, and held his lips in an unmoving passionate connection with hers. 

It was torture to stop. A groan from deep in his throat told her it was for him too.

He followed her lead, breath by breath, touch by touch, and slowed his searching hands to hold each side of her face as he pressed a final peck against her puckered, swollen lips. 

“I don’t want to get a lifetime ban from Madam Pince,” she whispered, pulling away from George’s dazed face. 

She watched him break out into a big dumb grin before wrapping his arms around her for a final embrace. Resting her chin against his shoulder, she tried to ignore the unmet ache between her legs and the sinking dread that everything would be different now. There would be no way to avoid her feelings for him, even to herself.

“You didn’t run away,” he hummed against her neck. She felt a pang of guilt for ever fleeing from his touch, made worse by the fact that she wasn’t sure if she could guarantee that she’d never do it again.

“I never run away from a fight,” she assured him quietly.

“I’ll be sure to piss you off more often,” he murmured into her hair before letting her stand up and help him off of the floor. 

“I can’t guarantee I’ll always react so pleasantly,” she said, letting go of his hands, straightening her skirt, and peaking around the corner to make sure the coast was clear. 

“No matter darling, I’m a gambling man,” he said, shooting her a wink before following her out from behind the bookshelf.

Trying to look as casual as possible, she led them back over to the chair, reaching into her bag as she sat down. George sat across from her on the ottoman with even more of a mischievous, smug look on his bright pink face than normal. 

She ignored the buzzing feeling on her lips and tried to concentrate. As good as she’d felt as soon as their lips touched, the reality was settling back in. She stared at his sweet smile and playful eyes and felt immense guilt. She shouldn’t have kissed him, or let him kiss her, but at the moment it seemed inevitable. They’d been careening towards this for more than a week so she’d let herself believe that it was inescapable, and yet it wasn’t. She’d seen the train coming this entire time, and honestly, if she couldn’t avoid it completely, the least she could’ve done was step out of the way. But it was too late now. They were now hurtling towards a different fate; one that she’d been mentally avoiding since she first noticed the freckles on his face.

“Are you ready to listen?” She asked nervously, pulling out the note from her Advanced Potions textbook.

“Now, I will literally do anything that you tell me to,” he said jokingly, raising his eyebrows suggestively, and leaning towards her. 

“Be careful,” she whispered. “I’ll hold you to that.”

She leaned back into the chair and watched his eyes grow wilder in conjunction with a toothy grin.

“Okay seriously, if we are going to begin the polyjuice potion on Friday, you and Fred will need to get these ingredients by then,” she explained, stuffing the list into his hand and ignoring his obvious glances down to her mouth. 

“Also, the potion takes a month to finish so we can’t brew it in the classroom. I thought that since you and Fred are the only ones in your room, we could leave it in there. I can drop off all the ingredients, tools, and instructions on Friday night but you will have to be the one to brew it,” she said hesitantly, watching his face for a reaction.

He furrowed his brow and shook his head vigorously, “The Gryffindor boys dorm doesn’t have a charm to keep girls out. I can just meet you outside our common room with the invisibility cloak and sneak you in, no problem.”

She squinted her eyes and carefully considered his plan. Technically, it was better than leaving him to screw up a complicated potion, but her heart skipped a beat at the thought of being in his bedroom, possibly alone. It was a bad idea, but it seemed to be their only option.

“You just want me in your bedroom,” she said skeptically, although, in her head, she had already agreed to the plan.

He clutched his chest in fake offense. “Not true,” he assured her with a wicked look on his face. “I want you anywhere, but some privacy would be nice.”

She rolled her eyes, ignoring the butterflies in her chest, and continued. “Fine, but we are starting at 8 and I’ll just be there to work.”

“Ah back to business as usual then,” he said, holding her gaze for a moment more and then standing up to head to class. 

She watched him for a second and then panic crept up on her.

“George,” she called at his retreating figure, motioning for him to come back a few steps, which he did. “No one can know… about this, not even Fred.” 

She watched him take in her words, letting his smile drop slightly, before reaching out to tuck a loose hair behind her ear. She let herself close her eyes and lean into his touch briefly before he was turning to walk away again. 

“As you wish,” he mumbled, disappearing behind the bookshelves. 

“What?” She called after him, unsure that she’d heard him correctly, but he was already out of sight.

After a few hours of Care of Magical Creatures homework and dinner with Sadie, she was practically skipping through the dungeon halls, on her way to bed. 

There were almost one hundred different times throughout dinner that she’d blurted out what had happened in the library to her best friend but she’d successfully managed to bite her tongue. She’d told him to keep their secret, and for her own sake, she was hellbent on keeping it too. It was just for the best.

Her lips and skin still buzzed from passionate contact as she showered, got ready for bed, and used her wand to flick off the light. She closed her eyes and wondered if anyone would be able to tell a difference in their relationship just by looking at them, but shook the bizarre thought from her head before drifting off to sleep.


	16. Anticipation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this chapter is a little shorter than normal but the next chapter will be the longest one yet and I hope to have it published by Saturday! Thanks so much for reading and commenting!

_The Dark Mark burned on her skin. She clawed desperately at the awful black stain on her arm but it wouldn’t budge. Tears flowed down her cheeks as her nails dragged long red gashes across the painted skin. George appeared in front of her and stared at the mark of a Death Eater that would brand her forever. Tears flowed down his face as his expression warped from anger to disgust, to rage._

_‘George wait’ she called out. ‘Come back’_

_But he had already disappeared._

Violet woke up to Sadie nudging her around 8:30, mumbling something about forgetting to set her alarm. George’s angry face flashed in her mind as she opened her eyes, but she couldn’t remember if it had been the real George or a dream George that had looked at her with so much anger and disgust. 

She heaved a deep breath in and filled her mind with the picture of him looking at her in the library with his hand on her face, and a mischievous twinkle in his eye. That was the real George.

George doesn’t know, she reminded herself, and what he doesn’t know, can’t hurt him. 

She chanted it to herself over and over as she got ready for the day before giving in and double-checking that the 1981 book was still carefully tucked under her bed and undisturbed. She stared at its hard black cover and wished she could extract the information from her mind permanently. No matter how happy she got, or how close to George she became, the images on the page would haunt her, and inevitably, ruin everything. Inexplicably, she felt resentful tears sting the corners of her eyes and before she could fully give into the helpless feeling, she kicked the book back under her bed and stalked off to class. 

George was already at their table when she got there but not wanting to sit in awkward silence, she hung back in the hallway until she spotted Snape stirring in his office at the front of the room and sat down just as he was beginning to explain the brewing instructions.

“Read your instructions carefully and do not dismiss the required use of all three cauldrons. Place the finished product on my desk. Begin.”

“Morning,” George whispered, watching her pull the pewter, brass, and copper cauldrons out from underneath the table. 

“Morning,” she responded much more rushed than she meant to. She cursed herself for overthinking everything she said to him and finally looked up. He cocked his head slightly and produced an amused look on his face due to her sudden awkwardness.

“Get up to anything fun after class yesterday?” He teased, clearly relishing in the cherry red hue of her cheeks

“I was harassed actually,” she turned towards him with fake concern. “Some crazy git in the library threw himself at me.” 

“Blimey, sounds terrifying,” he responded, smiling from ear to ear. “Why’d he do that?”

“Dunno, I think he’s convinced himself that I like him or something."

“I see,” he said nodding and faking a thoughtful look. “What’d you do to give him that impression?"

“Hmm,” she mused, writing down the ingredient list on a piece of parchment, and shoving it into his hand. “I guess I did throw a snake at him once.”

He chuckled and stood up to head towards the cabinet. “That’ll do it, Vi, you gotta be careful with displays of affection like that.”

She bowed her head to hide the smirk that just never seemed to go away when she was with George and tried to concentrate. The pewter pot had brought the potion water to a simmer by the time she looked up to see George walk back down the aisle and drop the pile of horned slugs, porcupine quills, and snake fans onto the table with a thud.

“Alright, what shall I do?”

“Nothing,” she said flatly. “This is very time sensitive so it’ll be best to just let me do it.” 

“Alright, then I will gladly watch the master, work.”

She smiled and watched him from the corner of her eye as he leaned back into his chair. She lingered for a moment, waiting to see if he meant what he said or if he was going to space off or mess with Lee but surprisingly, he looked down to stare at her hands intently. She bit back a smile and began brewing. First, she added snake fangs to the simmering water before waving her wand and leaving it to brew for about 45 minutes. Next, she spent nearly 20 minutes in complete silence, meticulously crushing each of their ingredients into a fine powder and setting them aside.

Not once did she feel George’s eyes leave her as she worked and even as she leaned forward, past the cauldron to double-check her textbook, she still felt his gaze. His eyes were soft and curious when she glanced over a few times, unable to fight off their magnetism. It felt like he was reading a fascinating book, or watching a particularly difficult chess match. Potions definitely weren’t interesting to him, and yet he looked as though he was trying to memorize every flick of her wand and turn of her wrist. Normally, she would’ve turned and snapped at him but the knot in her stomach kept her mouth closed. 

What did she say to him now? She only knew how to be mean to him but that sort of banter didn’t feel right anymore, not with what happened yesterday. There wasn’t anything too terribly different between them but tension-filled the space where a certain level of comfortability once was and she didn’t know if it was a good or bad thing. She knew she was overthinking it but the silent suspense was slightly uncomfortable so she wracked her brain for a painless conversation starter. 

“George,” she said cautiously, leaning away from the desk and back into her chair. 

“Yes, Violet?” He poorly tried to hide his excitement about her bringing his silence to an end. 

“What other products are you and Fred working on,” she asked. “Ones without potions, I mean.” 

He looked a little taken aback by her question but didn’t seem to mind talking her ear off about all of their most recent inventions. He went on and on explaining their progress on the Peruvian darkness powder, a screaming yoyo, and Fred’s idea for a tennis shoe that would let you walk up a wall. 

She kept a keen eye on their potion while he spoke but it was difficult to turn away from the animated, smart, and witty wizard in front of her as he was practically buzzing with excitement. 

“What about the black-eye telescopes?” She teased, eyeing him coyly. 

“Oh right,” he looked up at her sheepishly through his eyelashes. “We’ve put that one on hold as of late, due to an…unfortunate incident at the company.” 

“That’s a shame,” she mused, trying hard not to giggle. “I’d hate to have been the test subject for something you never even end up selling.” 

He looked up at her wide-eyed for a second before letting a wide grin form on his face in response to her official forgiveness. 

“Well actually,” he said. “We have been talking about marketing it as a boxing telescope, just because….it really did work so well.”

“Hmm a boxing telescope,” she said, pondering whether she really wanted to subject someone else to the garish bruise she had been left with. “I don’t hate the idea but we will need to come up with some sort of bruise remover potion to go along with it and you’ll need to take it down a notch so nobody else gets knocked out.” 

He reached into his pocket and scrambled to quickly pull out a tiny notebook, reaching over to grab a quill as he mulled over her words. She bit back a giggle and watched him with half-lidded eyes, unable to contain her fascination with the goofy man who was only capable of being serious about immature and foolhardy things. 

“Bruise remover potion,” he mumbled, biting his lip as he wrote.

She pulled her eyes away from George’s furrowed brow and furious quill scratches to move their potion into the brass cauldron for one minute like the recipe said. 

“Oh,” she whispered. “While you’re at it, I think you should make some more quills, like the one you gave me.”

“What do you mean,” he asked, without removing his eyes from the page. 

“Well like more joke quills that would explode ink all over a test to give you some more time while the professor replaced it or a real one that could spell check essays,” she offered absentmindedly as she moved the potion a final time into the copper kettle, before flicking her wand to finish it. “Just small things like that.”

“That’s brilliant,” he stated, finally looking up at her.

He leaned forward and tapped the end of the quill on her forehead jokingly and she closed her eyes, letting an amused sigh escape her lips. 

“What else are you hiding in there?”

He wiggled the feather between her eyebrows before holding it still against her skin. She squinted open one eye to watch George smile softly and meet her gaze. His eyes gave him away immediately and the reality of his gentle nature and kind heart hit her, all at once. Deep down, she knew who he was. When all the pranks, jokes, and boisterous outbursts slipped away he was…just George. Gentle, sweet, sometimes shy, George.

Their smiles faltered as neither moved away and she opened her eyes fully to take him in as his gaze flicked down to her lips. She couldn’t tell if he’d been this way before, or if he had been hiding it from her and everyone else but every time they spoke, she could feel it peeking through more and more. If it wasn’t there before, she wondered what had finally brought it out of him and silently concluded that it was probably Ginny’s scolding that did the trick. 

Her heartbeat fluttered as he suddenly moved the feather down the bridge of her nose, to the apple of her cheek before settling just under her bottom lip. She widened her eyes and begged him to say or do something to quell the ache in her chest but the transfixed boy didn’t meet her gaze. She was thankful that her tongue seemed to be glued to the top of her mouth so that even if she fell even further into this trance of bad judgment, she wouldn’t accidentally say something that was best kept in the deepest part of her mind. 

He flicked the soft material down her jaw until it reached the side of her neck. The breath in her throat hitched at the touch and she bit back an embarrassing whimper. She wanted desperately to unclasp her tie and let him unbutton her shirt to continue his delicate assault on her senses. If she didn’t know any better, she would’ve thought that George Weasley was trying to seduce her, in class, in front of Snape and the rest of their peers, in broad daylight. And that she was dangerously close to letting him. 

The image of Snape witnessing the tender moment snapped her out of her trance and she cleared her throat. George dropped his hand and finally met her gaze, looking a bit shocked, like the classroom had just appeared around them, out of thin air. He shot her a shy smile but she turned away to bring the potion off of the heat before he could say anything. The tension in her chest suddenly alerted her that she’d been holding her breath since he’d moved the quill to her lips. Her chest heaved as she poured the potion into the bottles that Snape had passed around. A few other tables were already walking their finished products up to the professor’s desk, so she took her time, hoping that Lee would sweep George off before he could acknowledge their awkward tension. Like always, her abilities in clairvoyance were spot on and the shorter, energetic Gryffindor was yanking the redhead away before he could utter another word.

She wordlessly watched them leave as soon as their backs were turned and then shuddered as panic crept in. She’d gotten so used to running away from him that it had never occurred to her what might happen when she stopped. Now, not only was she not fleeing away from him any chance she got but she felt anticipation whenever he was near. When he so much as lifted a hand she silently hoped that it was moving to make contact with her skin. When he spoke, she prayed to hear her name. Even when she saw him for the briefest moment, every other face in halls and classrooms disappeared from view. She’d been consumed by this feeling for so long and the only time it ever lapsed was as soon as their lips had touched in the library.

Snape came by her desk and gave her a congratulatory nod as he inspected the small bottle of cure for boils in front of her. She shot him a smile and scurried away without another word, not wanting to confront the small pang of guilt in her stomach for abusing her mentor’s trust. 

She rounded the corner and ran into Pansy Parkinson and a few other Slytherin girls talking loudly in front of the common room door. She smiled politely at their indifferent faces and quickly passed them, making a beeline for the stairs. Their excited twitters about plans for this weekend flowed up the stairs behind her, making her roll her eyes at the idea of going to a party in the Slytherin common room this Friday.

Oh Godric, Friday. She’d spent so much of her morning feeling nervous about seeing him in class but she’d completely forgotten that they’d be alone together on a Friday night in less than 72 hours. 

Due to a swell of nerves and hours spent overthinking every possible outcome for Friday, the rest of her Wednesday, and Thursday bled together and went by in a blur. 

She fidgeted through her remaining classes, being sure to avoid what she thought was a knowing glance from Fred or literally anyone else she saw. There was no way anyone knew and yet she was practically writhing with anxiety about simultaneous thoughts of kissing George again, not kissing George again, and everyone knowing that she kissed George. 

Even meals and brief outings with Sadie flew by as most of the time was spent by Violet trying to casually ask her friend about relationships, while biting her tongue to avoid spilling her guts. Sadie did have a few bits of knowledge like how to make someone jealous, and other more lewd techniques, but nothing super helpful for a literal first-timer. 

The library, her refuge, suddenly made her feel exposed and nervous so she only stayed when Hermione was there, and sat at the table next to the chipper witch, just in case George came for another romp on the chair. 

She wasn’t scared of him, or anything like that, but rather, had realized that when they’d kissed, she’d been driven by adrenaline and if they were just casually hanging out, instead of fighting, maybe it would be different. If she overthought kissing or god forbid…anything else, would it be any good? Another voice in her head reminded her of the possibility that George was well versed in things like this and might get bored with her lack of experience. 

By Thursday night, she felt like she was going crazy from running through one terrible scenario after another so she tried to focus on only the things that she knew for certain, omitting all hypotheticals. 

She rummaged around in her nightstand for the letter that George had written her, and stared at it in the dull moonlight flowing through the window. She read the words over and over and over again until eventually, she could hear his voice whispering the encouraging sentiments, in her ear. 

No matter how many times she read it, her eyes always caught the same one line. 

_Your friend, George Weasley_

She didn’t consider them friends when he’d written it and even now, it seemed rather inaccurate. They weren’t dating, but they weren’t exactly friends either. The grey area wasn’t as unsettling as it was a few weeks ago but now she was even more anxious to see which way they teetered next. Regardless of whether or not they were awkward or never kissed again, she felt kind of lucky. Lucky to have these two oddball misfits decide to enter her train car, and then randomly pursue her friendship because of some stupid potions advice. Especially lucky to have George make such an effort after she’d tried desperately to push him away. And even though it wouldn’t — couldn’t work out, she was lucky to have one perfect first kiss with a strange, passionate, beautiful man. 

The next morning, she skipped the library and waited by the common room door instead, until she saw Snape coming down the hall towards the Great Hall for breakfast. Grabbing her key, and cursing at herself for breaking her mentors trust, she ran to the classroom and stuffed the leeches, fluxweed, knotgrass, and horn of bicorn into the bottom of her empty pewter cauldron and made a break for it. 

Safely back in her room, she pushed all of the supplies into a bag and hid it under her bed before sprinting upstairs to breakfast, being sure that Snape saw her make an appearance. He hadn’t spoken to her about the swelling solution ingredients that she’d used last week so she thought that maybe he wasn’t checking his supplies as diligently as usual, or maybe the tournament was just providing an excellent distraction. Either way, she was glad he wasn’t looking at her suspiciously in class, even though she wasn’t sure how long it would last. 

She spent the rest of Friday, in her room, tidying up the mess of clothes on the floor, trying to discern which were hers, and which were Sadies, doing homework, and rehearsing what casual things she was going to say to George. 

She pondered what to wear for nearly an hour before deciding to let her hair down and dawn a cropped v-neck black sweater over a mid-length silk skirt that had a slit cut into it, that ran up the length of her leg, stopping just above her knee. 

Sadie came to get her for a late dinner at 7 and only briefly tried to pester her about why she was wearing such a nice skirt and had such a heavy-looking bag for the library. 

“Sadie,” she said, deadpan. “Do I ever ask you where you’re going or what you’re doing?”

“No, but that’s only because I always tell you!”

“I did tell you! I’m just going to the library,” she said, hoping her friend would drop it. 

“Ok fine, I believe you,” Sadie nodded. “But I think you look far too good to spend your night there, and that’s the last I’ll say!"

“Thank you,” she said, smiling as they walked to their usual spot at the end of the Slytherin table. “What did you get up to today?”

“Oh don’t get me started Violet,” she sighed, reaching across the table to help herself to some duck roast and potatoes. “Where do I even begin?”

As Sadie began recanting her day, Violet worked hard not to glance over her animated friend’s shoulder at the Gryffindor table. 

At 7:50, she bid her friend goodbye, trying to look casual and effortless as she picked up the incredibly heavy backpack off the seat next to her, and exited the hall. She stopped at the base of the moving staircase and looked up at her long way to go. Serves the Gryffindors right, she thought, the most annoying house get’s the most annoying commute. 

Each step felt more and more difficult as she was quite literally walking into something that she could never come back from. Every instinct screamed at her to go back but she pushed it all away and focused on counting the stone stairs, one at a time. 

After getting stuck on the third floor for five minutes, and almost falling too many times to count, she emerged from the moving labyrinth and stood nervously at the bottom of the stairs, just out of view of the Fat Lady. 

The knot in her stomach had been growing all day and just when she thought it couldn’t get any tighter, she heard the portrait open, and click close. She peered around the pillar she was hidden behind and watched George gallop down the stairs, invisibility cloak in tow. 


	17. Polyjuice Potion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Thanks so much for reading. I just wanted to pop in and say that this is my absolute favorite chapter so far, hence the length. I hope you love it as much as I do and are enjoying the story so far. Please let me know what you think!
> 
> Aesthetic Inso - lastxviolet on Pinterest

George kept his eyes on his feet as he flitted down the stairs, remaining unaware of her presence behind the pillar. She stared at him for a moment, relishing in the opportunity to observe his relaxed demeanor and floppy hair. Butterflies exploded in her chest as he pushed back the loose strands in front of his face and nibbled on his bottom lip, looking utterly unconcerned with the treacherous moving marble staircases around him. 

Despite seeing him nearly every day, she suddenly felt overwhelmed. Her nerves fluttered violently in her chest, catching in her throat and making it difficult to breathe. It wasn’t too late to leave, she thought, in a last moment of panic. She could escape quietly and George would turn the corner and wait for her in the empty stairwell until finally being forced to think that she didn’t want to be a part of the business anymore, and thusly, his life. They could sit silently next to one another in potions and ignore each other any other time. It would be a relatively clean and uncomplicated break but she doubted that George would let her escape that easily. The unpleasant, illogical thoughts in her head vanished as she conjured the dramatic scene of George breaking into the Slytherin common room to see why she was avoiding him. No matter how many times she went over the common sense options, it seemed that whether she liked it or not, she was doomed to be entirely intertwined with him for the foreseeable future. 

She waited a few more seconds until he was just about 6 feet away before her anxiety-riddled subconscious couldn’t take it anymore. 

“Hey,” she squeaked out, scaring him for once. 

“Bloody hell, Violet,” he said, clutching his chest after nearly skipping a step and tripping down the stairs. “I could’ve fallen to my death.”

“Nonsense, I would’ve caught you,” she assured him, taking the last few steps up to the stair where he stood. 

“Great bloody good that would’ve done,” he teased, shaking his head. “Then we’d both be dead.”

He loomed over her while he spoke, with his eyes slowly moving up and down her body. She watched him linger on the portions of bare skin that she’d never shown before and grew warm all over when he seemingly did a double-take at her exposed collarbones and upper chest. 

“Will you carry this for me?” she blurted, breaking away from his gaze and stuffing the heavy backpack into George’s arms. 

“Merlin,” he mumbled, bending slightly as he adjusted to the weight of the bag. “You really are trying to kill me.”

She traded him for the invisibility cloak and tossed it over her head, shuffling close behind him as they walked up the last stairway to the tower’s entrance. 

“If I was trying to kill you,” she whispered. “You would’ve been dead ages ago.”

He chuckled and paused before they made it to the Fat Lady to grab her hand over the cloak, pulling her close beside him. 

She tried her best to stifle her giggle when he muttered, “Balderdash,” towards the portrait before the door swung open, and he pulled her inside of the Gryffindor common room. 

It was the complete opposite of the dark, precise common room she was used to, so much so, that she half forgot that she needed to continue moving her feet to keep up with George. 

The walls were covered in lively red and gold wallpaper that tapered off into high stone ceilings accented by tall windows and a gold ornate chandelier. The furniture was all variations of the same burnt red house color but it seemed rather mismatched and tattered, definitely more worn in than the posh leather seats in Slytherin. 

George quickly pulled her through the almost empty room, up a flight of stone stairs, and through a large wooden door. They walked up a rickety spiral staircase lined with doors until he stopped at the door marked, ‘Weasley & Weasley,’ and lead her inside. 

It was significantly smaller than hers but the windows lining the curved back wall made it look a little bit more spacious than it really was. Dark wooden beds stood on opposite sides of the room, next to two large dressers, with desks and a pair of drawers between them. Quidditch posters, Gryffindor memorabilia, and family photos lined the walls. Her eyes swept over the room a final time before the knot in her stomach tightened as she confirmed its unoccupied state.

“Where did you go,” George asked, setting her bag down and taking a seat at the edge of his bed. 

“Oh, sorry,” she responded, pulling off the cloak to drop on the floor and smiling sheepishly. “I forgot I had it on.”

He stared at her from across the room and the tension from them being alone, so close to his bed, was almost too much to bear. Her eyes wandered the room again, taking in a few of the family pictures, as she steadied her breathing and tried to look as casual as possible.

“Where’s Fred?” She asked, nonchalantly.

“Off with Lee, wreaking havoc, I’m sure,” he responded, leaning down onto his bed and propping his head on his hand. “Not sure when they’ll be back but it’s usually not until past midnight.”

“Oh,” she said, trying to stay calm at the thought of them alone in the room for who knows how long. 

Unsure of what to do next, she quickly broke free from his gaze and walked over to the small crevice between his desk, and the window where he’d set her bag, to get the polyjuice potion started. She knelt to unpack, keenly aware of his eyes following her every move, and set the cauldron and burner down onto the window sill. She lit a low flame, measured out the standard potion water, and waited to see small white bubbles at the bottom. 

“Oh right, you’ll need these,” George said suddenly, not protesting her sudden shift to being all about business. She watched him open his desk drawer and reach over to hand her two small containers before returning to his spot on the bed. 

“Huh,” she mused, looking at the jars of lacewing flies and boomslang skin. “I can’t believe you did it.”

“If you tattle to Snape, I’m dragging you down with us.”

She squinted at him before adding the lacewing flies to the pot, flicking her wand, and then covering it to stew. 

“Do you really think so little of me?"

George let out a hearty laugh and shook his head. 

“Quite the contrary, darling.”

She rolled her eyes and watched out of the corner of her eye to see George return to his resting position on the bed. She pushed the burner and cauldron further into the corner, being sure to organize the rest of the ingredients on the window sill before standing back up and brushing her hands off onto her skirt. 

“Is that it?” George asked. 

“For now,” she answered, moving to sit on the desk chair. “The lacewing flies have to stew for 21 days before I can add the rest of the ingredients. I’ll have to check on it now and then but I trust you to stir it every day.”

“Alright,” he replied, clearing his throat and sitting up to face her.

She stared at him across the small space that separated them and tried not to think about how comfortable and warm his bed looked. 

“Can I snoop?” she blurted.

He let out a throaty laugh and stared at her with a huge grin. “Only because you asked so nicely.”

She returned his smile and stood up from the chair, turning in a full 360, trying to decide which part of the room to start with. 

“Point me in the direction of the most embarrassing stuff please,” she cooed.

“Hmm well, other than the entirety of Fred’s side, I’d have to recommend the family photos near the door.”

She meandered over towards the large stone wall adorned with wooden framed pictures of countless moving redheads. Nine nearly identical faces smiled out at her from Egypt, and Romania, in holiday sweaters, Hogwarts robes, and in front of an incredibly tall home that looked as if it was quite the architectural feat. 

“Is that your house?” She asked, pointing to the odd wooden structure in the background of a photo. She heard George get up from the bed and take a few steps to stand behind her. He lightly pressed his chest against her shoulder, and she absentmindedly leaned into the warmth.

“Yeah,” he said almost sheepishly. “Not much, but it’s home.” 

“It’s incredible,” she mused, wondering which window was his room. 

He grumbled something inaudible about it being structurally sound but she was too focused on deciphering the redheads she didn’t recognize. 

“Is that your mum?” she said, pointing to the woman at the forefront of the same photo. 

“The one and only.”

She studied the stocky redhead woman smiling next to her identical offspring. She looked sweet but the look in her eye told Violet that she was not a woman to be trifled with. It was to be expected of course because she doubted that just a normal woman could’ve created such a powerhouse as Ginny or two versions of chaos in human form. 

“Ginny told me that she threatened to tattle on you and Fred to her about holding me hostage or something, I wonder if she ever did it,” she mused, shifting her eyes to stare at the younger more mischievous looking version of George in the photo. She remembered the short hair cut from his third year and smiled to herself. He looked a lot better now with his shoulder-length mop.

“Oh, you bet she did.”

It took her a moment to register his words but as soon as she did, she nearly took off her own head by whipping around to face him. 

“You’re joking!”

“Wish I were,” he confessed nervously. 

Her eyes widened. “What did your mum say?”

“Well, obviously she was angry. I got a howler about it and everything.” 

“Oh no.”

“Don’t worry, I sent her a letter explaining the whole situation.”

“What did _you_ say?” She asked breathlessly, bringing her hands to cover her face in mortification. 

He shrugged. “The truth a’course.”

“That’s just great George, now your mother thinks that I’m some misfit, who enables you to steal from the school,” she accused in a panic, staring up at his suddenly red face. 

“Oh well no…I didn’t get to that part,” he admitted sheepishly, clearing his throat before continuing. “She was worried that I actually had you locked up so I uh…just told her that it wasn’t like that and that um… you’re just a girl…who is willingly spending time with me, and um I am just a boy, who is willingly spending time with you.”

Her heart fluttered for a moment until guilt trickled in. He’d told his mother about her and she was terrified for her best friend to know that they even spoke.

“Oh.”

She wanted to press further and ask what his mother said and if he thought she’d like her but, it was a road to nowhere. Despite the pit in her stomach, she let a giggle escape her lips at his explanation and leaned forward to shove his shoulder in jest.

“Well it’s the truth,” George mumbled, reaching a hand up to move a loose strand of hair behind her ear. 

“You’re quite liberal with the word willingly,” she whispered, smiling up at him before turning back to inspect more embarrassing photos.

He chuckled and she felt his finger hesitate on her neck before he dropped his arm to rest on her upper back, rubbing small circles between her shoulder blades. The warmth sent tingles down her spine and she bit back an embarrassingly pleased smile. 

“Which one is Charlie?”

“That one,” he said, pointing to a taller, older, and stockier version of himself and Fred. “With the great big burn on his arm. He’ll be here tomorrow, did I tell you that?”

“Really?” She asked excitedly, craning her neck backward to meet his toffee eyes.

“Yeah, we’ll go and see him after breakfast so you can meet us there if you still want to.”

“Can I join you,” she inquired nervously. “For breakfast before, I mean.”

“Sure but can you afford being seen surrounded by that many Weasley’s first thing in the morning?”

She glanced down from his smug smile, biting her lip nervously and trying to take it as a joke. He was probably kidding, but he did have a point. In all her excitement she’d completely forgotten that she had to tread lightly with George around his family, as to not raise any suspicions about their romantic feelings for one another, and had tread lightly with all of the Weasley’s, around everyone else for her own self-preservation. This tightrope walk was going on longer than she had previously expected, and the wire was shrinking. 

She could hear George still snickering at his stupid joke so she jammed an elbow into his side to shut him up. 

“Oi watch it, or you won’t get your surprise,” he huffed, bracing his hand against her back a little harder to hold her at arm’s length.

She laughed at his pained expression and turned to look directly up at him with a huge grin. 

“You’ve got a surprise for me?”

He smiled smugly at her interest. “Yes.”

“Can I have it now?”

“So impatient, you are.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “Just add it to my list of flaws, right next to angry and uptight.”

“Well then you can add withholding onto mine, next to annoying and smug,” he said amusingly.

She turned back to the wall and searched for an embarrassing photo to point out. She found it in the form of him and Fred standing in Diagon Alley before their first year at Hogwarts. 

“That’s fine,” she cooed. “Tell me more about this haircut instead.”

He wrapped both hands around her waist and pulled her from the wall. “Alright, alright you can have it now.”

His tight grip against her was jarring but not unwelcome as he moved them over to the bed and sat down, keeping his hands on either side of her, before clearing his throat awkwardly. 

“Um, it’ll be easiest to see if you lay down,” he said, biting his lip, gesturing towards the bed. 

Her stomach flip-flopped. It was enticing but she in the belly of the beast tonight, and thusly, on high alert, just in case any nosy Gryffindors came busting in. 

“The floor then,” she said cautiously. 

“Oh…yes right, that’ll work,” he mumbled before releasing her, kicking a few pieces of clothes under his bed and laying two pillows down on the floor. 

She laid down and watched George walk over to fiddle with something on Fred’s desk, which, judging by the number of products, and clutter, seemed to hold their business supplies. He scooped something in his hands and flicked his wand to extinguish the lights before laying down next to her so that their arms just barely touched. 

“George, what are you doing?” She hissed in the dark, praying that Fred would not choose this moment to come back.

“Just trust me,” he whispered back. 

The windows let in just enough light so that she could see him raise an arm and light a small cylinder between his fingers with a non-verbal fire spell. 

It suddenly flew out of his hand and made a soft whizzing noise before bursting into colors as it exploded close to the ceiling. She held her breath and watched the wooden ceiling become illuminated with small white, green, and purple sparks. 

She gasped softly and looked over to George who was completely ignoring the show to watch her reaction. She shot him a smile before turning back to enjoy the view. 

The sparks swirled around the room before congregating just a few feet above them. They faded to a bright purple and then melted into one another, to take the shape of a flower. 

“It’s a violet,” she whispered, awe-struck by the image above them. 

The flower bloomed and produced several smaller versions of itself to rain down around her. She sat up a little and reached out to touch one, giggling as it disappeared around her finger. The petals fell in a waterfall of purple, making the room sparkle and dance in the shifting incandesce before disappearing just before hitting the floor. She turned to look for George but he’d almost completely disappeared behind a curtain of violet light.

She sat up on her elbows, as the last firework fizzled out around them, staring at the ceiling for a moment before emotion overwhelmed her. No one, not even her parents, had done something like this for her before. She’d received gifts on birthdays and other holidays corresponding with her interests, of course, but this was different and completely dumbfounding. Of all the thoughtful gestures she’d read about in her books of fictional romance, she couldn’t think of a one that held a candle to this. 

In the dark, she fumbled slightly across the floorboards and grabbed George’s hand. He laced his fingers with hers and pulled her closer. 

“That was beautiful,” she stammered, letting her cheek hit his shoulder. “I…I don’t know what to say. I loved it.”

“Weasleys' Wildfire Whiz-bangs,” he whispered, his breath tickling her forehead.

“What?”

“It’s a new product… but um… I wanted to make the first one for you.”

She smiled to herself and nuzzled closer to George. Of course, it was for the business, she thought, not that it mattered because she loved it, regardless.

The floor was uncomfortable but she hardly even noticed. 

_Heavenly_.

That was the only word to describe laying in George’s bedroom with him stroking her hand and breathing into her hair.

They laid like that for what seemed like forever, but surely it was only minutes before she couldn’t contain the longing anymore. 

She let go of his hand and propped herself up on an elbow to search for his face in the dark. The moonlight illuminated him just enough so she could just make out a slight smile; pale, honest, and beautiful in the weak light.

It wasn’t right…she tried not to think it but it was true.

He deserved someone who could lay with him without fear or regret. Someone who could be with him wholly. It had taken her 17 years to realize that she was selfish, and a few months to realize that she didn’t want to be. And yet, here she was, with him, unknowing that she was going to break his heart. He looked at her like she was the only person in the world, the only star in the galaxy, the only thing that mattered, and despite everything, she knew he saw the same in her gaze.

He responded to her movement instantly and slung his hand around the back of her neck, massaging the skin with his thumb. It wasn’t hungry or desperate and when her eyes finally adjusted to the darkness, he was regarding her with an unfamiliar delicateness. Before she could lean down and cover his lips with hers in adoration, he craned his neck up towards her, to press his lips just below her eye, where her bruise once was. She closed her eyes and let him do as he liked, utterly content to be in his complete control. It was a strange feeling, wanting to give someone everything, despite knowing that it would never be enough to accurately display whatever warmth she felt in her chest towards him every second they were together, or apart. 

He pressed light kisses on her eyelids, forehead, cheeks, nose, and jaw, occasionally letting his tongue taste more sensitive spots. Between kisses, his teeth suddenly made contact with the skin just below her ear and under normal circumstances, she would’ve been horrified with the embarrassingly feminine purr that escaped her throat. Thankfully, he seemed to be satisfied with the whine and brought them both back down to the pillows where he kissed her property, on the lips, in passionate tandem. 

She responded to the contact eagerly, parting her lips for his tongue, and gripping the front of his shirt to bring him down on top of her. He groaned as their chests made contact and pressed his body weight onto her. They crashed together over, and over again, clashing tongues, bruising lips, wandering hands; it was euphoria. 

He suddenly peeled himself off of her in a swift movement, and before she could protest, he reached down to sweep her into his arms. She gasped at the change in position as his taught arms effortlessly lifted her by her knees and waist. She wrapped her arms around his neck as he carried her over to the bed where he hesitated slightly before sitting on its edge with her perched across his thighs. 

He stared at her nervously, loosening his grip on her full waist while keeping a steady hold so she didn’t fall. 

“Erm…the bed is probably more comfortable but we don’t um have to — ”

She cut him off by turning into his chest, bringing a hand to his cheek, and letting her thumb caress his swollen lips. His eyes didn’t leave her as she swallowed her nerves and followed the only instinct that she could decipher in this completely new realm of activity. 

She kept her hand on his face for reassurance, sliding her legs off his lap and onto the floor to face him, even sitting on the bed, he was still slightly taller than her. His chest was heaving, and the hunger in his eyes vibrated her entire body. Despite the physical obviousness of his passion, he was gentle and patient, never moving without her or wandering where she could not follow.

She pushed him back slightly so that he leaned fully against the headrest and propped both legs up on the bed before she climbed on top of him, resuming the straddling position they’d grown fond of in the library. His throat bobbed as she rested her full weight onto his hips, and leaned her chest into his. She smiled slightly and couldn’t resist placing a delicate kiss against the two freckles she’d practically memorized on his neck. Her lips made contact with his skin and she heard him suck in a sharp breath. 

As content, as she was letting him have all the control, feeling him squirm, and breathe heavily beneath her, waiting for her touch to satisfy him, was even more intoxicating. She continued her trail of kisses up the side of his neck, ending at his ear where she stopped to toy with the lobe between her teeth, remembering the delicious noises he’d made the first time she’d done it in the library. He did not disappoint the second time and moaned deeply, before dragging a hand away from her waist to trail up the slit in her skirt, finally making contact with her skin. It only lasted a moment though before he flinched away from her bare thigh and dawned a more gentlemanly mask by dropping his hand to the bed. 

He cleared his throat nervously as she continued her delicate assault on his jaw. 

“Can I touch you,” he whispered, gripping her waist tighter. 

His hesitation was sweet but not what she wanted. “Yes,” she hissed into his ear, overcome by lust. “ _Please_ , I need you.”

It was difficult to decipher if it was a command or beg but it was all the permission he needed. 

His hand reclaimed her thigh instantly, holding it in a punishing grip and moving swiftly up towards her backside. His other hand wove itself into her hair, pulling her head back so that he could place sloppy kisses against her neck, and chest. The flimsy open collar of her sweater did not put up a fight as he pushed it further and further down to run his tongue against the tops of her breasts. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” he hissed against her skin. “Say it again.” 

“I need you,” she moaned breathlessly. She hadn’t realized how much she had meant it until this very moment as the skin he kissed burned under his tongue before freezing again as he moved to the next sensitive spot, leaving a trail of wet bruises.

He tilted his head back up to recapture her lips, and his hand dropped to join the exploration of the others, up her skirt. She was, by no means, small and delicate, especially in the thigh region, and yet, his hands were able to almost entirely wrap around each one and the thought that she’d gone years without the feeling was torture. He squeezed her tighter, interrupting the stream of consciousness that was distracting her from pleasure, and pulled her down hard. 

He moaned against her lips and she suddenly realized that she’d been rocking her hips against him with embarrassing desperation, feeding the flames between her legs. It was invigorating to feel how hard he was against her; _for_ her. He broke their kiss and locked his eyes onto hers, causing a shudder to run down her spine. He looked starved, of what she didn’t know, but there was something insatiable staring back at her that she hardly recognized as George. 

“Is this ok?” He whispered. She stared for a moment in confusion before realizing that his thumb was rubbing circles into her pelvis, just below the lining of her underwear. Her eyes widened in surprise. 

He wanted to touch her; really touch her. She nearly fainted.

If he wanted to release the pressure that had been building ever since he accidentally grabbed her thigh a month ago, who was she to decline?

“Yes,” she sighed, without breaking eye contact. “ _Please_.” 

He groaned at her breathless mewing and broke the fabric barrier separating her from his searching fingers. She let in a shaky breath as his thumb caressed her plump slit. Heat pooled below her navel at his light touch and she bucked her hips forward, desperate for more friction.

“ _Violet_ ,” he moaned. “You don’t know what you do to me.” 

He released his other hand from her thigh and lightly held the side of her neck, pressing their foreheads together. 

“ _George_ ,” she sighed, overcome by the thirst for movement, release, fiction; anything to un-cloud her mind from the need for him to touch her. 

He regarded her with curious, hungry eyes for a moment, teasing her slit with light, long caresses. The painfully slow touches made her see stars and she was unable to contain the breathy moans escaping her lips, uncaring that he knew how desperate she was. Finally, he broke out in a satisfied smile and pressed his thumb into her folds, and onto the pulsating core that ached for him.

“Like this?”

“Yes,” she moaned, unable to contain the throatiness of her pleas. “ _Fuck_.” 

He breathed heavily and rubbed small circles onto her clit. The vibration made her moan haphazardly and throw her head back in ecstasy. Suddenly, her body was not her own. She was happily powerless; freed from constant worry, control, and awareness. Being completely at his mercy as he pulled her strings so perfectly, was intoxicating. Despite never experiencing this before she knew that he was ruining her for anyone else’s touch, ever again, herself included. 

He took her dazed look as a cue and amplified his efforts by dragging his hand down to the front of her sweater, moving the neckline off of her shoulder, to expose lacy black fabric underneath. 

She heard him let out a strained huff as his mouth attached itself to the top of her breast. 

“You’re fucking perfect,” he growled. 

His lips found her nipple and again, she felt him hesitate. 

“ _George_ ,” she whined, begging him to continue. 

In an instant, his hand joined his mouth around her breast, pushing the lace of her bra completely out of the way. She closed her eyes and whimpered as he toyed with her hard nipple between his teeth. 

“Does it feel good,” he asked in a gravelly voice. 

“ _Yes_.” 

“Louder,” he demanded in a strained groan, synchronizing his thumbs efforts below with his tongue on her nipple. “Fuck, _please_. I want to hear you.” 

“Fuck,” she moaned, uncaring if anyone walking past his door could hear. “Yes, George, yes.” 

She was utterly unprepared for George’s ability to unwind her completely. Sex wasn’t something she’d thought about much, at least not in the real world. She’d internally accepted that it would simply happen when it did, and it was to be dealt with then. This, however, was not a part of her plans. Even the George that did similar intimate things in her dreams and fantasies, was no match for this. Intrusive thoughts of past conquests flooded her mind as he expertly stroked her where no one ever had before. Hopefully, Fred had just given him some pointers, or perhaps he was just naturally gifted. Regardless of where he’d learned it, she was content to let him expertly caress her for as long as he liked.

He must have known it too because he slowed and sped his finger up, teasing her clit, until she was grinding her hips against him eagerly, so close to the edge that her mind was getting cloudy.

He lifted his mouth from her chest and found her lips again, swallowing her haphazard moans like they were the last things on earth and sucking on her bottom lip.

“Fuck…. _George_ ,” she gasped. “I’m so close.”

He moaned at the admission and kept a steady speed against her with his thumb, using his other hand to wrap gently around the base of her neck to watch her come undone. 

Through the approaching waves of pleasure, she held his gaze, watching him memorize the way her brow furrowed and lips parted. 

“George… _George_ ,” she moaned, closing her eyes and throwing her head back. 

In a final vibration, she seized as her mind blanked and body ascended into euphoria, making her back arch in a way that would surely make her sore tomorrow. She opened her mouth and let sighs and moans escape her throat. George groaned and moved down to recapture her neck with his mouth, gently sucking as she moved her hips in tandem with his hand to chase the high, loudly moaning his name. 

He stroked her pulse point with the fingers still wrapped gingerly around her neck and whispered, “Good girl, Violet.

She rode him unabashedly to her utmost content until the friction became too much and she collapsed against him. Her cheek hit his chest again and when she opened her eye the dark around them was swirling as she tried to catch her breath

“Fuck,” George sighed, stroking her hair and peppering the top of her head with light kisses.

The sounds of their rapid breathing were the only thing that broke the silence between them. She let her eyes close as the rise and fall of Georges’s chest lulled her into a state of complete content.

She came out of her orgasm clouded trance and panicked for a moment, trying to remember all of the tips and tricks that Sadie had talked to her about, so that she could return the favor but George wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tight, trapping her against his chest. 

Her body was spent but her mind was positively abuzz with hundreds of feelings, thoughts, and questions. The most prominent being, where on earth he’d learned to do that. She opened her mouth a few times, debating on how to approach the question, or if she even needed to at all. She was desperate to gauge his experience level but couldn’t decide if it mattered to her at all. 

“That was amazing,” she mumbled after a few minutes of deliberation.

He jostled both their bodies with a hearty laugh. “I think that’s the first compliment you’ve ever given me.” 

She rolled her eyes even though he couldn’t see and nuzzled further into his chest to hide the rosy tint creeping up her cheeks. 

“Was it really?” He asked in a hushed tone.

It was almost shy but she didn’t know what to make of it. He’d seemed to know exactly what he was doing and there was no doubt that he’d seen her face and heard the humiliating noises coming out of her mouth. 

“Yes,” she answered hesitantly. “Lots of practice?”

“No,” he cleared his throat. “Erm, beginners luck.” 

“Oh,” she whispered. “Um, for me too.”

He let out a sigh, possibly in relief, and squeezed her hand tighter. 

She moved to sit up to slide off of his lap to look at him but the hand around her waist stopped her. 

“Stay for just a little longer,” he whispered, pulling her further into his chest. She nodded and nestled back into his warmth. 

The sentiment washed over her and dug up the guilt from earlier. He knew, just as well as she did, that a quick escape was her specialty and even now after he’d touched her intimately and made a staggering romantic gesture, he was waiting for her to run. She watched his hand caress hers lightly and pressed her ear into the loose fabric covering his chest. It felt nice, to count someone else’s heartbeat for a change and because it couldn’t be permanent, she memorized the rhythm and cadence to play in her head when she was alone. She counted his breathing too, for a while, furrowing her brow in curiosity as it hitched a few times in his chest like he was mulling something over. 

“Violet,” he said cautiously, toying with her fingers. 

“Hm?” She exhaled, satisfied that he’d finally decided to vocalize whatever he’d been thinking about for the past fifteen minutes.

“Can I ask you something?”

She nodded lazily.

“Um….it’s about that day in the library but I…I don’t want to uh ruin anything.”

She furrowed her brow and racked her brain for what he could be on about. 

“I very much doubt that anything you say could dampen my mood, George,” she whispered, pressing a kiss onto his shirt.

“I don’t know,” he chuckled softly. “I have quite a talent for pissing you off.”

She peppered a few more kisses up his sternum and waited for him to speak.

“Well, go on,” she said, brushing her lips across the collar of his shirt. 

He let out another shaky laugh and dropped his forehead down to meet hers.

“You’re distracting me.” 

“Ok, ok, sorry,” she said, dropping her head to rest on his chest again. “Ask away.”

Her smile faded as silence reclaimed the room and just before she could begin to panic, he spoke.

“What did you mean when you said that your house already talks about you?”

She felt her stomach sink and the darkness around them suddenly lost all of its peace. She tried not to give herself away but her heartbeat fluttered to an alarming pace. Any other question would have been preferable because any other question she might have been able to answer truthfully.

“Oh…” she hesitated, squeezing her eyes tight and pressing her face into his chest. “That was um…nothing. I was just angry with you.”

It was doubtful that he would believe it, but it was worth a shot. She felt the urge to break free from his grasp and make a break for the door but knew that it would only intensify the mystery, and thusly, his curiosity, and so, she was stuck.

He was quiet for a moment and then moved his hand to her chin, tipping her head upwards to meet his gaze. “Violet,” he whispered, searching her face with concern. “I don’t believe you.”

She bit her lip and studied his eyes. He meant well, as he always did but he was completely unaware and unburdened by how stressful this line of questioning was for her. She could feel them careening towards a comfortable place in their relationship for once, and didn’t want to ruin it with a confession of her darkest family secret. He wasn’t going to let her off the hook without revealing something, so she decided to settle for a half-truth. 

“It’s just Malfoy,” she said quietly, avoiding his eyes. “But you already know what he’s like.

“Violet…”

“Really, George…it’s nothing.”

He furrowed his brown and squinted at her. “I know that’s not true. Please, Vi, you can tell me.”

His tone could’ve broken her heart. Half-way between a plea and a question. His eyes were toffee, timid, and concerned. She thought that her outburst in the library would’ve been forgotten after their kiss but clearly, he’d been paying attention. Maybe it was because of the fireworks or maybe because of the heat she could feel rising off of his body but she did kind of want to tell him. There were things she’d have to omit but maybe she could get close enough to the truth for him to believe her, but stray far enough away as to not raise any alarm bells.

She suddenly felt odd having the conversation while straddling him so she climbed off, to perch on the edge of the bed. He let her move before leaning forward to swing his legs off the bed to mimic hers. When they were sitting side, by side, he took ahold of her hand again. 

“It’s because of my father,” she admitted, looking down at the floor. “He’s from a pure-blood family but um…. he married a muggle, my mom.”

He stroked her hand with his thumb, wordlessly urging her to continue.

“Well and…um…. I’m the oldest, so technically the pure-blood legacy ended with me. And to Malfoy and the other pure-blood supremest’s, that’s even worse than being muggle-born. To them, I destroyed my family name,” she finished quietly. “It’s really nothing more than Malfoy calling me a half-blood though, except sometimes he’ll call my father a traitor, which stings but it’s not nearly as bad now as it a few years ago.”

She quit rambling and stared up at him. 

“You don’t need to say anything,” she stated firmly. “And I don’t need your pity or whatever.…it is what it is and I can deal with it on my own.”

“How does he know that, about your family?” He asked, ignoring her previous statement. 

Clever.

She could hear the cogs in his mind whirring and hoped he wouldn’t think too long on it. 

“Lucious Malfoy went to school at the same time as my father so… yeah.”

Technically not a lie, even though her father hadn't started school until Lucious’s final year at Hogwarts. 

He pulled her hand up to his chest. “That’s awful,” he mused. 

She stayed quiet, hoping that he would drop it, even though she knew it was too late.

After a minute of silence, he spoke again. “How can you stand it?”

She frowned. “Stand what?”

He cleared his throat. “Living with them…being a part of a house that treats you like that.”

“I hardly have a choice George,” she said, trying not to be annoyed. Why did he have to bring this up now? She doubted that he’d let her shut him up with a kiss this time, but if he kept pushing, then it’d be worth a try. Anything would be worth a try to get out of this particular conversation. 

“Still…” he mused. “Don’t you get tired of it?”

“Of course I do but it is what it is,” she said harshly. “Their feelings on that stuff are thousands of years old. There’s no changing it.” 

She tried to steady her breathing in order to calm down but was failing miserably. He was acting as if it was her fault that she was taunted and it was starting to piss her off. 

“That doesn’t make it any better.”

“Well spotted,” she snapped, suddenly feeling her blood boiling. He had no right to lecture her about rights and wrongs.

“Don’t you want to stand up for yourself?”

“Stand up for myself?” She spat, yanking her hand out of his.

“Yes. You deserve better.” 

“Being ignored and occasionally ridiculed is as good as I’m going to get from them, George.”

He shook his head. “How can you say that, Vi? How can you just sit there and take it?” 

She recoiled and it took nearly every ounce of self-control she had to not hit him in the face. He thought she was doing this because she was weak. His pity was worse than his anger, or hatred could ever be.

“You think I’m a coward, don’t you?”

He swallowed hard and looked taken aback. “I didn’t say that.” 

“That doesn’t mean you don’t think it,” she spat. Even him, in all his ethereal glory, couldn’t fight off the hatred of Gryffindor’s pride and bravery that had been festering in her for years. 

“They shouldn’t be able to walk all over you is all that I’m trying to say.”

“Just drop it, George!”

“No!"

She shook her head and shot him a death glare. “You don’t know what it’s like."

“Don’t know what it’s like? Are you joking? Every single person in my family gets sneers from Slytherins, especially Malfoy.” 

She bit her tongue. He had a point, to some degree, but still, at least he wasn’t alone in the ridicule. She, on the other hand, faced it all alone, without an army of siblings or house loyalty behind her and that was something he couldn’t understand.

“It’s different for you, and you know it,” she hissed. 

He squinted at her statement and scoffed. 

“At least when my name comes out of his mouth,” he sneered, getting close to her face. “He knows it’ll cost him.” 

She rolled her eyes and stood up. He followed suit and cast a spell to relight the room. So much for romance, she thought. 

“What would you have me do? Prank him into stopping? Is that your brilliant solution?”

“It’s better than nothing,” he bellowed.

“No. It’s adding fuel to the flame! He is a hateful boy, with hateful friends, all from hateful families, and I couldn’t care less about the things that they say,” she snapped as he loomed over her with a twisted enraged expression. “Besides, you don’t know what it’s like because you _are_ a pure-blood. Whatever he makes fun of you for— your family, or your hair or whatever, it’s never going to be about that.”

“So I should count myself lucky then?” He yelled back at her. 

“Do whatever you want! I don’t care!”

“Obviously you do care Violet or you wouldn’t be so worked up about it!”

She stared at him in disbelief. Malfoy and the other blood purists were the bad guys, not her, so why was he so angry? 

“Do not speak to me about things that you do not understand,” she hissed, lunging for the invisibility cloak by the door.

He grabbed her arm and tried to yank her back but she disappeared before he could get a good grip and suddenly he was fumbling with empty air. His footsteps followed close behind her out the door, down the stairs, and through the common room, which was busier now that everyone was settled in for the night. She ignored the chorus of hello’s to George as he ran through and used the distraction to get to the door before him. 

“So you’re back to running away,” he whispered harshly as she pushed open the portrait. 

“Only when you’re being a fucking prick,” she spat back, shedding the cloak as soon as she stepped onto the stairs, not bothering to look back at him. 

The footsteps behind her suddenly stopped and she whipped around to see George staring down at her from the landing a few steps above with a pained expression on his face. 

“Violet, _please_ ,” he stated firmly. 

She froze and dropped her shoulders in defeat. How could she be angry with him for caring? He didn’t want Malfoy to say nasty things to her, and neither did she. They were on the same team but she knew he’d never understand her line of thinking when it came to fighting off her housemates. He was smart and empathetic but his Gryffindor attributes clouded his better judgment and even without the rift that would be caused by her Death Eater bloodline, she didn’t know if it was something they could reconcile. 

He walked down two more stairs so that they stood on the same one and reached for her hand before snapping it away as a familiar voice floated up the stairwell. 

“Hey, Violet!” 

Ginny appeared just below them and she tried to warp her face into a more pleasant expression. George mumbled hello to his sister and moved to create a space between them for the shorter redhead. 

“Oh hi um, sorry I was just leaving,” she said a little more forcefully than she had meant to. 

She glanced up at George, who was doing a terrible job at not looking upset. He glared down at her with his brow furrowed and fists clenched, not acknowledging his sister. 

“That’s alright, I’ll see you tomorrow anyway,” Ginny said excitedly. 

“Sorry what?”

“Aren’t you coming with us to see Charlie?” She said, glancing up at her brother. “George said you wanted to see the dragons.”

Fuck. She’d forgotten about that. She wracked her brain for some sort of excuse, as surely now George did not want her coming to a family reunion.

“Oh um—“

He cut her off and grabbed his sister’s arm, leading her back up towards the portrait. “Be in the courtyard at 9.”

She shot the young witch a weak smile and dashed down the stairs, trying to ignore Ginny’s accusations towards her brother about why they both looked so angry. 

She was still invited to see the dragons so he couldn’t be too angry, but she’d been uninvited from family breakfast with the Weasleys. It stung but she couldn’t blame him, after all, she had just accused him of being a fucking prick. 

That insult was nothing though. Especially not compared to George inadvertently calling her weak. It stung that he’d been so harsh and judgmental about something that wasn’t even her fault; about something she couldn’t control. His words washed over her again and again and she fought sorrowful, embarrassed tears the entire walk back to her common room, intent on not shedding a tear due to some Gryffindor calling her a coward. 

She’d rather be a coward than an idiot. 

Bravery wasn’t the Gryffindor way, she thought, it was their curse. Standing up to Malfoy would be pointless and bravery for bravery’s sake was pointless too. There was no endgame there, no peace, no winning. Sacrificing oneself for a just cause, with no hope of achieving the desired end was the definition of idiotic. George and the rest of them rather hold their heads high in heaven than do what they must to survive in reality. Self-preservation might be her curse but at least she’d stick around long enough to fix it someday instead of flying off the handle and getting herself killed. He saw her patience for weakness but she viewed it as a different kind of bravery.

She was brave to get up every day, knowing what she knew about her family and choosing not to go down that path. She was brave to stay vigilant and try to collect as much information as she could about the real battle that they all faced. She waited patiently in the shadows of Slytherin, plotting from the inside. The young Malfoy was nothing compared to that, and she would be an idiot to inconsequentially pick a fight with him now, especially about her stupid bloodline. 

That kind of bravery, George couldn’t understand. It was her noble burden and she couldn’t explain it to him unless he knew what she really was. He talked a big game now, but if he knew the truth, his bravery and courage would wither and die on his tongue. Where would the Gryffindor loyalty be when he found out? 

If tonight was any indicator of his feelings on the matter then she knew he could never find out, and thusly, Malfoy or anyone else could never find out about them. That was if there still was a “them” after tonight.

The confirmation of her worst suspicion caused frustrated tears to fall as soon as she stepped into her bedroom and they didn’t stop until she drifted off to sleep.


	18. Dreamless

Dreamless. 

For the first time in a long time, she woke up from a completely dreamless sleep.

Her alarm clock blared at 8:00 but she stared at Sadie’s empty bed without a thought until 8:15. 

Eventually, her subconscious won over and was able to disrupt her state of peace by conjuring the same sinking dread that had plagued her chest last night. George’s look of pity and sadness played in her head over and over again. It was just uncomfortable enough to get her to drag herself out of bed, shower quickly, dawn on a black sweater dress, and a puffy black coat, and make it out of the dungeon by 8:50. 

The low murmur from the Great Hall was tempting as she walked by, to get to the courtyard and even though she knew it would hurt her feelings, she peeked inside. Her eyes hit the group of redheads instantly and inexplicably, she would’ve given her left arm to be talking excitedly amongst them. They sat near the end, their faces pink with strained expressions and gasping breaths between laughs. 

_Happy_. They always looked so happy. 

She could tell that George was the one leading the conversation with some story that his siblings were hanging onto every word of. Maybe he would tell her later. She tore herself away from the view and stalked towards the courtyard before her mind could remind her of the absence of her parents and Olivia. 

She sat on a stone bench and clicked her lug heel boots against each other in the cool fall air. George was bound to still be angry but she wondered what his wrath would be like. The issue was convoluted and even though she wanted to be hurt and angry, she couldn’t anymore. 

It felt like fighting for a cause she didn’t even believe in. Fruitless and energy wasting. 

His anger was directed at a rough sketch of the truth but nowhere near the root of the issue. It was difficult to put her heart into a fight that was hardly even real, especially when she knew exactly how tragic it would inevitably end. 

“Morning Violet.” 

She looked up from her boots to see Ginny excitedly leading the pack of Weasley’s over to her. 

“Morning,” she replied. 

“Ready to go?”

She returned the smile and stood up to follow them out of the courtyard. “Yep.”

“Hang on,” Ron bellowed, furrowing his brow. “Charlie said this was supposed to be a secret. Why does she get to come?” 

She felt her cheeks go pink and glared at him. One angry Weasley was more than enough this morning and two just felt uncalled for. 

Fred hung an arm around his brother’s shoulders and smiled down at her. “What’s got your knickers in a twist, Ronnie?”

“Shove off,” Ron said, stalking off towards the dark forest, turning his back on the whole group. 

Fred had never been the white knight she’d needed in previous tension-filled moments and she suddenly felt more grateful for his presence than ever. She chanced a glance at his partner in crime but George had already turned his back to follow after Ron. 

Great, she thought, her strongest tether to this family wasn’t even going to look at her and she had to spend all morning with them. 

“You in the dog house or something, Wilkes?” Fred laughed, elbowing her and eyeing his twin’s retreating figure. 

“Something like that,” she mumbled, letting Ginny take her arm and lead her down the stone path and through the dark forest. 

She, Fred, and Ginny talked about the tournament and their progress on the ton-tongue-toffee as they walked but she couldn’t keep her eyes away from George. He didn’t look angry by any means, just forlorn. He and Ron were talking about something in hushed tones a few paces in front of them but she couldn’t make out what it was. She watched them whisper rapidly back and forth until George said something that made the perturbed Ron throw his head back in laughter, which dissolved the raincloud above them into a sort of ease that was only possible with family. 

She half wondered as the tension released from George’s shoulders and sunshine returned to his face if he’d forgotten that she was there. 

And then she was stuck in toffee. 

As if he could read her mind, he turned ever so slightly and made eye contact. By the sudden rise of his eyebrows, it was clear he was not expecting her to be staring at him adoringly, but she didn’t look away. He masked the glance as an innocent check-in on the three of them but he seemed to forget to look at the other two. His eyes flitted back to his younger brother as he forfeited their staring contest but she could see the ghost of a smile on the corner of his mouth. 

“Charlie!” Ginny yelled abruptly, letting go of her arm and waving frantically. 

The second oldest Weasley appeared from the underbrush and took long, almost threatening steps to embrace his family. He looked just like he did in the pictures except the camera didn’t pick up his rugged features and borderline dangerous air. 

His tall frame disappeared behind the taller twins but his arms made it all the way around the group of Weasley’s. Last year, that amount of red hair all in one place would’ve made her sick but now…well the hug didn’t look half bad. 

She focused on the back of George’s head subconsciously. Even from behind she could tell which one he was, mostly from the large cowlick that plagued his poorly groomed hair. 

Sunlight kissed the top of his head and bathed his floppy hair in golden light. Red, orange, or gold didn’t do the color any justice. The longer she stared in wonder at his fiery crown, the more difficult it became to hold any animosity towards him.

Charlie glanced up at caught her eye from the dogpile and she shot him a smile, trying to hide the fact that she’d been staring admiringly at his brother. 

Noticing the glance, George cleared his throat and turned around. “This is Violet…erm and Violet this is Charlie.”

He wasn’t speaking directly to her, but she would take it.

Charlie spoke first after eyeing his brother teasingly. “Violet, nice to meet ya.”

“You too. Thanks for letting me tag along,” she said, shaking the large man’s hand. It was rough and calloused. She couldn’t imagine why it wouldn’t be, dealing with dragons was definitely not a desk job, and yet it was rather jarring. 

“This one practically begged me so—“ He was cut off by a rather hard elbow to the ribs from George. 

“Alright, alright,” he giggled, winking down at her. “Let’s see some dragons, shall we?”

George avoided her eyes but she watched his pink cheeks from the cold turn a deep red before stalking off after Charlie. 

The last of her anger and frustration vanished into thin air. The beating of her heart, suddenly audible, signaled her worst fears come true. George could anger her beyond belief by calling her a coward a thousand times, or a myriad of other things but the affection she held for him would never budge. He could scold, yell, beg, hiss, groan and not look her in the eye but unfortunately, it didn’t matter. She could hold grudges like air in her lungs and if anyone else had said the things that George had last night, they would’ve earned a lifelong spot on her hit list. And yet, something blinded her. Looking at George now, she couldn’t see the harsh words, or angry expressions, only the softness of his eyes and the way his mouth looked when he said her name. She kicked herself mentally and groaned, wondering at what point she’d gotten so soft. 

As they made it out into a clearing she scurried closer to the boy who brought her so much grief and pretended that it was an attempt to stand next to Ginny. The group stayed quiet as they came upon four huge cages covered in green and brown tarps. Thundering snores shook the trees and the heavy material swayed slightly as if there was a breeze. 

“Pretty dull lot,” Fred said, eyeing the relatively quiet cages. 

“You’ll be thanking Merlin they are, too,” Charlie said, rolling up his sleeve. “Got this one last night trying to pump ‘em full of sleeping draught.” 

His already wrinkled and cracked forearm glistened with some sort of salve on top of a fresh burn. She stared at the scar but was thrown into her own little world. 

They use potions on dragons?

“Bloody hell, there’s gonna be nothing left of you,” Ron exclaimed. 

“You sound like mum,” Charlie scoffed jokingly. 

“You use a sleeping draught?” Violet asked, eyeing the cages of sleeping dragons.

“Ah right, I heard something about you and potions,” Charlie said. “Yeah, we do. Only way to get ‘em to sleep without stupefying.”

“The normal recipe works on them? They aren’t too large?” She questioned further, ignoring the butterflies in her chest. Maybe Ginny or Fred had told Charlie about her love of potions but she seriously doubted it.

“Nah, we brew it special,” he said, nodding over to large buckets of dark purple liquid. “Extra strength.”

“What makes it extra strength?”

“We use the whole Valerian plant, not just the sprigs.”

She pondered the answer for a second and broke out into a huge smile. “That’s brilliant!”

“Thank you,” he said, nodding happily. “Work’s like a charm.”

“He didn’t come up with it himself,” George mumbled from somewhere behind her. Ginny giggled and the rest of the family glanced at him. 

Charlie looked like he was about to say something to rile his younger brother up further when a loud snarl snapped their attention back to the cages. 

“Looks like someone’s awake!” Charlie bellowed, walking over to the beast that had made the sound to start unfurling the tarp that kept it hidden. 

She braced herself for a terrifying sight but a beautiful green dragon looked up at them through the metal cage, ruffling its scales, flexing its wings, and stretching its legs. It blinked a few times and then widened its tawny eyes to stare at them. She held her breath a little at the intense gaze and took a step backward, hitting her back on something warm. 

“I gotcha,” it whispered. 

It was George. 

If he thought she was a coward before, he definitely would now. She mumbled a soft sorry and tried to pull away but he snaked a hand underneath her open coat and around her waist, so no one could see. She shuddered at the touch and let him pull her closer. 

“This beauty here is a common welsh green,” Charlie began before explaining what made it unique from the rest of the dragon breeds that were still sleeping. 

She half-listened but it was impossible to concentrate with George holding her so close, just like he had been last night when they were looking at his family pictures before things got complicated. 

The public nature of his affections didn’t even register. It was just comforting to know that he didn’t hate her beyond repair. Certainly, they weren’t in the clear just yet but he seemed eager to forgive. Under normal circumstances, she’d drag it out, make him suffer, and beg for forgiveness but now she wanted to get her side of the apology to be over with. 

She’d decided sometime in her peaceful state this morning that taking the blame was her best bet at getting him to drop it. He was much too stubborn so there was no changing his mind without any new information, and that wasn’t something she was willing to do.

Slowly, she relaxed into George’s chest, letting him prop her up and hold her waist tight, soaking in any affection that he was willing to give, despite his anger. He must have sensed her silent apology and forgiveness because his thumb began working circles just below her breast. She bit back a whine at the delicate touch and pressed her legs together to quell the sudden burning ache. 

“They won’t be hurt in the tournament, will they Charlie,” Ginny squeaked out, staring at the beautiful beast. 

“You’re worried about the bloody dragons,” Ron scoffed. “I reckon they’ll be just fine against four teenagers.”

“Can’t tell ya much,” Charlie said. “But I wouldn’t put ‘em in harm’s way, Gin.”

“What about Harry?” Ron practically yelled.

“I can’t tell you anything,” Charlie reiterated, with an amused smile tugging at his lips. “I shouldn’t even be showing you this!”

“He’ll be fine,” Fred chimed in. “Besides, what’re a few more scars on his face?”

George chuckled at his brother, but remained silent, still holding her tight. 

A second growl from the other cage ripped through the trees and she leaned into George further, hoping that he hadn’t felt her practically jump out of her skin. His chest jostled with a light giggle and she nudged his stomach as if to say a gentle ‘shut up.’ He caught her elbow and used the momentum to snake his other arm around her waist, pulling her against him fully. 

She panicked for a moment before eyeing the rest of the family contently chatting away in front of the cage. She and George’s canoodling was hardly the most interesting thing going on. She watched them a second longer before concluding that they were safe from prying eyes.

Charlie led his siblings a few more steps forward, talking rapidly about the next beast waking up. She and George stayed frozen at the very back of the group, holding their breath until they were sure no one was turning around. 

George’s hands dug punishingly into her waist and he seemed possessed by her proximity as he held her. Reality nearly ceased as her head slotted perfectly against his shoulder and his hands spread wide across her stomach. All her years at Hogwarts had been spent wondering if she fit in anywhere. Slytherin didn’t always feel right, in her family she felt misunderstood, but here, in George’s arms, the world went quiet. 

She let her eyes unfocus and absorbed the feeling of pure content. George sucked in a breath and exhaled, his breath caressing the top of her forehead giving off the faintest scent of cinnamon. It triggered a memory from potions when she had made sure not to smell their Amortentia. 

What would she have smelt if she did? The potion only exposed attraction, and if last night was any indicator, she would probably smell him. She’d dreaded the possibility then, but now, she didn’t hate herself for it quite as much. Sure, it was less than optimal but there was no resisting it now. He inhaled and exhaled again, lulling her further into repose. 

She was so focused on the calming rise and fall of George’s chest that she almost didn’t notice Charlie beginning to turn around. With a grunt of displeasure, she took a step forward, out of George’s embrace and furrowed her brow as if she’d been listening intently the entire time.

“Alright, alright, I have to get back to work,” he said, motioning to the other Dragonologists containing the very vocal beasts.

“You can watch a little longer if you stand by the path back there,” he bellowed, moving towards the second cage. “And don’t tell anybody about this, champions aren’t supposed to know!”

The buzz from touching George came to a sobering end as Ginny, Fred and Ron turned around to walk back from whence they came. She joined them, not looking at the twin with his hands in his pockets, back through the clearing and trees that blocked the dragons from view. 

She stopped at the edge of the path to watch Charlie uncover the last few dragons and called back to the rest of the Weasleys who were already halfway down the path. 

“I’m going to stay a bit longer, see you later,” she waved and watched Fred and Ginny turn to give her big smiles, and Ron not acknowledge her in the slightest, trudging on ahead. 

She avoided George’s eyes and turned back towards the cages. She’d been distracted by him since they got there and didn’t get a chance to actually look at the amazing beasts. She thought that tonight she’d be sure to write Olivia, to tell her all about it.

The sound of footsteps disappeared through the forest, leaving roars and the clatter of scales against metal, as the only sounds breaking the silence. Before she could appreciate the peace, a new set of footsteps started behind her. She half hoped that Ginny had changed her mind and come back but by the length of the stride, she knew it wasn’t. 

He didn’t press himself against her or even stand close, just hovered behind her, watching the dragons wake up and begin to squirm against their confinement. One particularly large one took no time at all to wake up and begin shooting fireballs in every direction. She gasped as one came hurtling so close that she felt the warm remnants of the deadly force as it disappeared into thin air. 

Finally, he spoke. “That’s what you look like when you get angry.” 

She wanted to whip around and shoot her own stream of fire at him but couldn’t help the giggle that escaped her lips. He must have heard it because he came closer and brushed his hand against hers lightly, eyeing her cautiously. 

“You’re going to ship me off to Romania?” 

He chuckled and shook his head. “Nah…anger management, maybe.” 

She elbowed him in the rib but he caught her arm and pulled her into him again, wrapping his other arm around her waist. 

“If I have to go, then so do you,” she mumbled.

He was quiet then. She could feel his heart fluttering against her and knew that he wanted answers. If she was smart, she would’ve pulled away and reignited their argument from last night, possibly making their anger at one another permanent, but she wasn’t.

A concession was the best plan of attack, she reminded herself. It would result in the least amount of questions. 

Lose the battle, win the war. 

“I’m sorry, about last night,” she whispered leaning her head back against his shoulder and reaching up to cup his cheek. “That’s a sensitive subject, and I haven’t talked about it in a while so I just kind of lost it. I know you just wanted to help.” 

Another half-truth. Hopefully, it would be enough for him. 

“I’m sorry too,” he breathed, catching her hand and pressing a kiss into her palm. A shiver slipped through her whole body. “Malfoy is a git and I just…I just…hate knowing that he hurts you.” He dropped his head and rested his chin against the top of her head with the final word. “I didn’t mean to make it sound like I was angry at you.”

She closed her eyes and breathed him in deeply. “I know.” 

They fell silent again as George peppered her palm and wrist with delicate kisses. 

“Are you angry with me,” he asked quietly, pulling her back fully against his chest.

“What do you think?”

“Yes,” he whispered, nuzzling into the crook of her neck. 

“No,” she breathed, closing her eyes as his lips made contact with her pulse point. 

“Last time you stormed off, you were angry at me for nearly a week.”

“That was different,” she whispered. “And if I remember correctly, I actually forgave you pretty quick.”

He hummed in agreement against her skin.

“I remember,” he said slowly. “It went like this right?”

His breath ghosted across her face as he ran his lips up and down her jawline, nibbling at the most sensitive spot below her ear.

“Yes,” she breathed, stuck in place by the overwhelming sensation of letting George kiss her out in the open. 

“But now I can’t seem to remember,” he huffed. “Was it like this?”

He craned his neck to lick a slow stripe across her neck.

“Or like this?”

She jumped and let out a gasp as his teeth made contact with her clavicle. He chuckled lowly, before covering her chest in large, sloppy kisses, all but abandoning his meticulous, teasing method. 

She giggled and turned to face him. He held her body tight but leaned down to finally bring his face to hers.

They collided; timid, and sweet, with parted lips and bated breath.

His lips weren’t needy, or hungry. She didn’t move against him and neither did he. With the mutual admittance of feelings deeper than desire, the knot finally snapped. No more nerves, or uneasiness; only certainty. The certainty that if she could, she’d kiss him like this every day for the rest of her life, despite the consequences.

She knew she shouldn’t have let him kiss her, and yet, it felt like she had no other choice. 

He was brilliant, intoxicating, beautiful, and _here_.

It was a fantasy, with an impossible ending. She knew as soon as they broke apart, her mind would do everything it could to distract her from this ultimate desire, but maybe she could entertain it for just a little while longer. 

“Come with me.”

Her eyes opened in an instant to see George grinning wickedly with a hand open towards her between them. She grabbed his hand without question and let him pull her back down the path, and further into the tree line. 

George turned around suddenly and lifted her off the ground so that he was standing between her legs with her back against a large tree. She was breathless and the bark was rough against her back but the delicious feeling of him between her thighs canceled everything else out. 

It wasn’t like last time, when they were both meek and unassured, not really knowing what to do with their hands or lips. This time, he dipped down to her face and captured her lips with bruising force. She sighed against his tongue as he rolled his hips into hers, pinning her to the tree. Her hands clung to the front of his shirt in tight fists, gripping his shirt, pulling him close.

A fierce roar from one of the dragons, in the distance, sent adrenaline through her veins and she skirted one of her hands down his torso. Despite flying blind, she managed with his belt just fine and found the zipper in record time. George grunted against her lips as he quickly realized what she was doing. 

Her hand made contact with his boxers and he stopped moving. She froze too, for a moment, afraid that she’d done something wrong until George pulled back from the kiss and pressed his forehead to hers, eyes wide with hunger. 

“You don’t have to,” he whispered. “I know that I —”

“I want to.”

He watched her carefully, chest heaving. 

“Let me,” she whispered finally before he gave her a slight nod in concession.

She let out a shaky breath and continued slowly, letting her palm glide over soft skin. He kept his eyes open and glued to hers but sucked in a harsh breath and bucked his hips slightly, pressing himself into her grasp. 

“Merlin, fuck,” he hissed, as she gripped her fist around him.

His brows furrowed and his expression tensed like he was trying desperately to remember something or perhaps just stubbed his toe.

He shifted her weight into one arm underneath her thighs and brought a hand up to tangle in the hairs behind her neck, bracing the back of her head as he slowly pumped into her hand. She mimicked his movement until they found a steady rhythm. 

“Oh fuck me….you’re amazing—you _feel_ amazing.”

His incoherent, obscene sputtering ignited something new inside of her. Possessive, dark, and dominating. His husky voice, and intense eye-contact being only for her felt like madness. The thought that he could be hers and only hers made her dip her chin and devour the rest of his moans.

He held her cheek, pressing her into him before dragging his hand down to brush past the neckline of her dress until his thumb caressed her nipple. He rolled over it, again and again, drawing moans out of her with every touch. The heat of his hand against her chest accompanied by the cool breeze on her now exposed skin made her shudder. 

He let out an animalistic rumble from deep in his chest and thrust into her hand faster and faster, sputtering curse words and adorations. In his haste he gripped her chest hard, making her hiss and moan with him until a shattered gasp escaped his lips and she felt something wet against her wrist. 

He pulled away first but kept his eyes closed, pressing his forehead against hers, leaning in to run his lips across her cheeks, nose, and jaw. She muttered a drying spell and moved to stand on her own two legs. He let her, but kept a hand on her thigh, letting it run up her backside as he put her down. His hand met bare skin as he pushed her dress up to her hips where his fingers began playing with the seam of her underwear. She threw her head back against the tree with the anticipation of his fingers sliding into her folds but it never came. George ran his tongue down her neck and what was exposed of her chest before kissing a line down her torso, bringing himself to his knees. 

She furrowed her brows and looked down at him as he peppered kissed onto her exposed legs. 

“George,” she whined, feeling something searing below her navel as his tongue danced on her upper thigh. “What are you doing?”

He looked up at her with his thumb looped around her waistband. Her breath caught in her throat so she gave him a shaky nod in permission. 

“I have dreamt about you longer than I care to admit, Violet,” he growled, between kisses.

A moan ripped through her chest, as his teeth nipped at the sensitive skin.

“And just in case you’re going to run away again, I’m not giving up my chance to taste you.” 

Closing her legs and running away seemed like the best option. Sadie had talked to her about her various boyfriend’s attempts at going down but according to her, they always looked like they were having less than a good time, thusly, making it an inadequate experience. She dwelled on it a second longer before his nose brushed her inner thigh. 

The burn she felt every time he touched her was searing as his tongue traced her slit. 

Her head went fuzzy. If she hadn’t been leaning against the tree she would’ve topped over. Before she could even register what he’d even said, he pressed his tongue through her folds, to suck hard on her core. She bucked her hips and brought a hand down to his head, silently pulling his hair, asking for more.

It wasn’t lazy or uninterested, but rather, eager and starved. He licked her core just right and threw her head back, seeing stars and moaning into the branches above. 

“Fucking perfect,” George hissed, as his tongue swirled over her core in a delicious, quick, firm motion. 

She could barely register his words as his tongue lavished her for every moan, sigh, and curse word she could produce. The sound of his wet, open-mouthed kisses against her was intoxicating. She could listen to it forever, and it seemed, based on his enthusiasm, that George wouldn’t disapprove. 

“Right there,” she groaned, inadvertently grabbing his hair to pull him closer. 

He moaned against her, creating an overwhelming vibration that threw her over the edge. 

She yelped as she came down from euphoria and the reality of the outdoor situation returned. 

George’s onslaught hadn’t ceased despite her loud apex. His mouth was no longer hungry or urgent but intentional and adoring. He caressed her with slow, long licks and sucked delicately at her core.

“Fuck,” she moaned. “George—fuck it’s too much I —”

He lazy continued, even as she twitched and writhed beneath him. 

“Come for me, again,” he mumbled. “Taste so good."

She gripped his hair to steady herself. It was harder than she’d meant to but he let out an approving grunt and doubled his efforts. 

“Taste fucking amazing — wanna do this all day…”

She lay in the valley of her last orgasm and suddenly rocketed up the hill again, with the trajectory feeling earth-shattering. 

She came again on his tongue, babbling his name in heated pants and rolling her hips against his face.

He licked her clean and pressed kisses against her slit and inner thigh before letting her dress fall free and standing up to look her in the eye. 

His lips and chin were damp with her and his eyes looked borderline crazed. He stared at her as if she held all the secrets of the universe. It made her shutter and launch forward to capture his lips. 

She tasted herself on his tongue bristled at the tang. The way that he was devouring her only moments ago, she would’ve thought that she tasted like candy. He pulled her close by the waist and trapped her in a deep embrace. He pressed her back up against the tree and for half a second, she considered asking him for _more_. 

A tree shaking dragon’s roar ripped through the forest, making them both jump and move away from the tree.

“Alright, let’s get out of here before we’re burnt to a crisp,” George groaned, catching her lips lightly one last time. He grabbed her hand and lead her back down the path. Again, she complied wordlessly. 

The sun had never felt warmer, and she’d never felt lighter. If they could, she would’ve stayed out in the middle of the forest for the rest of the day, tangled in a web of each other, right there on the dirt and earth, but the voices of their peers congregating near the lake, and in the courtyard was a rude reminder of reality. A reality where she could not afford to be seen holding hands with George, it was a gamble to even be seen walking out of the forest with him. 

“Charlie seems great,” she said, swinging their arms. 

He giggled at the movement and rolled his eyes. “He’s a bloody show-off, is what he is.”

She dropped his hand and sunk it into her pocket, hoping he’d think it was for warmth. He must have known better though because he shot her a hurt look and hung his head to watch the Hogwarts lawn beneath them. 

“Thanks again,” she said cautiously as they came out of the forest. “For letting me come with you guys.”

“What are you doing for the rest of the day,” he said abruptly. “Do you want to do something?”

She flew through her mind, searching for an excuse, or anything to prevent her from having to reiterate the hurtful truth that he already knew. His eyes pleaded with her silently to not say no. To not dismiss him. To just say yes and grab his hand in front of all their peers. It was compelling but not enough.

“Oh um — I have a lot of homework to catch up on and—” she stuttered, staring down at the ground. “Sorry….I just can’t erm hang out today but maybe another time?”

He stared down at her in silent acceptance. She could see hurt, and sadness beneath his small, tight smile but he never let it show completely. He let out a final sigh and looked up to stare at the castle wistfully. 

“I wouldn’t mind, you know,” he whispered, glancing over to her. “If they knew…. If they all knew. I’d actually be happy if Malfoy knew that you were mine.” 

She stared at him wide-eyed. 

_Mine_. 

Her mind whirred in a silent flurry of desire, happiness, and guilt. 

“George…I….I can’t, it’s not —“ She stopped talking, the somber look on his face was too much. It hurt; worse than a punch to the face, worse than cruel words from housemates, worse than nightmares. 

“I know,” he breathed, looking back down at his shoes, away from her. “I just wanted you to know, in case you ever change your mind.”

He cleared his throat. “Right, see you later.” She opened her mouth to say something, anything to get him to stay just a little bit longer but he was already jogging off toward the castle. 

The pit in her stomach deepened. 

It really did hurt to watch someone run away from you. 

Her heart was heavy all weekend. The library brought her no peace or solace. Even Sadie’s excited ramblings about the tournament's first event on Tuesday couldn’t distract her.

He was everywhere; at breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Each time he laughed at something or whispered along with his friends, her stomach sunk deeper. She could be there too, laughing with him, meeting his friends, hanging out with his family but she was too scared. At this point, she began to wonder if she was more afraid of the fear itself. 

Maybe it wouldn’t be the end of the world? 

People didn’t really pay that much attention to her so maybe it would be the least of their worries. It was entirely possible that no one would care, even Malfoy.

If only the problem was as easy as a potion, she mused.

If it was, she could follow exact instructions and brew a first batch, and then a second, and then a third, until it was right. Nothing messy about that; meticulous trial and error. 

Although, despite the lack of brewing instructions, she might actually be able to test a first batch.

If she chose correctly, she could do a controlled experiment and test drive the news on someone to better gauge the school’s reaction. She ran through her rolodex of possible choices.

Hermione had seen them that day on the chair, and although she hadn’t really brought it up again, surely she was suspicious. It was a good option but she knew deep down that the sweet Gryffindor would just be happy for the both of them. 

No. Hermione wouldn’t work. She needed someone more judgmental, someone, more prone to flying off the handle.

She stared at Sadie across the table at dinner on Sunday night. The guilt from keeping a secret from her gnawed at her sanity. That seemed to be her only option, everyone else she knew was too nice.

“Sades,” she said. 

“Hm?” 

“I heard a rumor…and I was wondering if you’d heard it too?” 

She only needed to test the waters. Just a toe, nothing more, in case of a sudden tsunami. 

“Oh, do tell,” she said excitedly, with wide eyes. 

“Hardly anything exciting. It’s just something about the Weasley twins,” she started, aimlessly trying to figure out how to stay anonymous. “I heard that one of them is dating someone in Slytherin.”

She gasped, and her hand flew to her mouth. “You’re joking!”

“Just a rumor!” She assured her. “I don’t even know which twin, or who in our house it is but that’s what I heard.” 

She squinted at her friend, waiting for a dismissal, or roll of her eyes but Sadie’s face cracked in a wicked smile of delight, horror, and intrigue. 

“What a fucking idiot,” Sadie cackled. “What sad girl is so desperate for a boyfriend that they would settle for a Weasley?” 

Her stomach dropped. She’d half expected it but hearing the words still hurt.

“Right,” she said, trying to match her best friend’s tone. “So mental.”

“That’s hysterical, I have to know who it is so I can set her straight before the rest of the house does! I mean could you imagine taking a Weasley home to your parents?”

Yes. Yes, she could. 

She solemnly told her brain to shut up.

“No, never,” she whispered and shook her head. “That would be mortifying.” 

“Well, that solves the mystery of why one of them was sneaking around the dungeons a few weeks ago! I cannot believe you heard about this before me! Who do you reckon it is?”

“No clue. I was hoping you would know,” she said half-heartedly. 

Sadie looked frantically down the table and pondered each face intently for the rest of their meal without luck. She ran through every girl in their year but didn’t once bring up Violet’s name. It was what she had wanted and yet, somehow worse than she could have ever imagined.

“You have to tell me if you find out who it is,” she said, getting up from the table after dinner, to join Anastas for an evening stroll. “Love you lots!”

Not likely. 

“Of course, have a good night,” she said, waving to the retreating figures. 

She rested her head on the table and tried to drown out the noise around her. 

A fucking idiot. 

That’s what they would say; that she was a fucking idiot. They already called her a traitor so what was one more insult? Then again… what a peaceful existence she had. Keeping sneaking around with George, and the rest of Hogwarts away from one another. 

Regardless of how good it was, she felt… selfish. Surely that was why George had looked so hurt when she pulled away from him, and when she told him that no one could know.

Her house’s reaction really didn’t matter though. The only thing that mattered was that they would surely tell the only person whose response really mattered. 

Malfoy was evil, chaotic, and utterly without remorse. 

She was certain that his twisted and sick sense of humor would make him spill her dirty family secret to the whole school as soon as he found out about her and George. He’d shout “Weasley and the Death Eater” to anyone who would listen. 

The revelation would sever any ties to George, or Ginny or Fred, ruining the entire thing, and give her no choice but to remain in the shadow of Slytherin, because no one else would have her.

George didn’t know it, but she was distancing herself from him because she wanted to protect him.

Well, attempting to distance herself from him. 

She pressed her fingers to her lips and sighed. 

Giggles from the Gryffindor table drove the stake further into her heart. It would be easy, to go sit with them and join in, but that was the problem. If she did it again, it’d be harder to sit alone at her own table every single day. And the inevitable horror and shock from them when the hammer finally dropped, would hurt that much worse. She sucked in a large breath and opting for self-control, got up quickly and marched back down to the dungeon. 


	19. The Triwizard Tournament

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I got too excited with the last chapter and just had to get another one out this weekend!
> 
> Side note, I have been thinking about a possible Fred x OC Neville's sister story so if you have a desire to read that, or any ideas, let me know!

_ ‘Do it’ the voice whispered in her ear. ‘Kill them and be free’ _

_ Malfoy whimpered at her feet, begging, pleading, calling her by name. _

_ He’d only ever called her half-blood.  _

_ She raised her wand ‘Avada Kedavra’ _

_ Green engulfed the blonde boy, and he fell to the floor, stiff as a board, still and quiet.  _

_ She still didn’t feel at peace.  _

  
  


Violet woke with a start and flinched as the green she’d seen in her head, hung above her in deep velvet fabric. Her subconscious was getting less and less cryptic with its messaging, and although she appreciated that it no longer kept her guessing, its agenda was too on the nose. 

She looked forward to the week ahead as she got dressed Monday morning. Classes were canceled Tuesday due to the tournament, and again on Thursday for some announcement with each house so her stress level when it came to homework, was at an all-time low.

The common room was a little busier than normal as she walked through. Malfoy and a couple of others were handing out buttons that said ‘Potter stinks’ by the door. She’d completely forgotten that the poor kid was going to have to fight a dragon tomorrow. As if he hasn’t been through enough in his fourteen years. Oh well, she thought, at least on Malfoy’s list of enemies, she would always come after him.

She was in no mood to deal with the sinister blonde this morning so she hung by the dormitory door until a large group headed towards the common room entrance. She hid in their midst and successfully escaped without accepting a stupid button.

George was already at their table when she walked into potions and he looked so uncharacteristically peaceful that she contemplated running up and scaring him but decided against it. 

“Good morning,” she said, sitting down and scooting up to the table. 

“Morning,” he nodded before returning to whatever he was scribbling in his notebook. His silence was unnerving, usually, he was much more of a morning person. Was he still upset at her? 

“Did you get to see Charlie again over the weekend,” she asked, trying to start a conversation. 

He looked up at her and produced a weak smile. “Yeah, we played a bit of Quidditch on Sunday.”

Bloody hell, of course, the one thing she couldn’t hold a conversation about. “Fun…um, remind me what position you play.” 

He smiled fully and finally closed his notebook, giving her his full attention. “I’m a beater.” 

“And they do what, exactly?”

“Violet, you cannot be serious,” he sighed. 

She nodded her head and held his gaze.

His mouth dropped open. “I’m the one with the bloody bat!”

She squinted amusingly at his exasperation and tried to remember what they needed bats for. 

“Oh right, yes. To hit the ball erm…into the goal?”

His eyes widened further. “To hit bludgers at the other team! How do you not know that? I swear I’ve seen you at a game before.”

She giggled. “Well I go sometimes but I don’t really pay attention.”

“Clearly!”

“There’s just so much going on!” 

“Nonsense, there are only four balls!”

“That’s significantly more than almost every muggle sport,” she said, tapping his chest in jest.

He wriggled his eyebrows and gestured down to his relaxed posture.

“You don’t fool me,” he said, with a smirk. “I think you get distracted by something else.

“What are you on about?” 

“No shame in loving a man in uniform,” he giggled, flexing his other arm. “I don’t blame you for being unable to focus on the game because you can’t keep your eyes off me.”

“In your dreams,” she cooed, curtly aware that George’s arm had slung over her chair, and his hand was absentmindedly massaging her shoulder. If they ever did get a chance to date, she’d have to get used to his obvious preference for PDA.

His smile broadened and he shot her a wink. “You always are.” 

Her mouth was suddenly too dry to speak. His hand moved from her shoulder and twirled a strand of hair next to her face, letting his knuckle caress her cheek. His eyes were especially soft and warm this morning and his gaze practically melted her. Thankfully, there didn’t seem to be a glimmer of lingering disdain from their tense altercation a few days ago. 

“Oh really?”

“Yes,” he cooed, tucking her hair behind her ear and cupping her cheek. “How could I dream of anything else?” 

“George, you’re supposed to dream of things that you don’t have in reality,” she whispered teasingly, absentmindedly dropping a hand onto his thigh. 

“So I have you, do I?”

His tone stirred a heatwave of butterflies in her chest. She glanced over to his own loose strands of hair for a moment, wanting to caress him, pull him close, and drown in cinnamon but she accidentally met eyes with Adrian who was watching them with a scrunched face over George’s shoulder. 

Her eyes went wide.  _ Fuck _ . He’d probably been watching the whole time. He’d seen her smile, giggle, and blush like a stupid school girl. 

She slapped George’s hand away in an instant and panicked for something to say. “Sorry um…that tickled.” 

He furrowed his brow and eyed her in shock but she looked away before he could say anything. Thankfully, not a second later, Snape burst into the room and began a lecture on memory potions. 

George didn’t look at her, or try to write on her notes, or even brush his leg against hers for the remainder of the class. He just sat and sulked, but that was the least of her worries. 

Adrian had seen it. 

He’d seen her canoodling with George in broad daylight, in the middle of class, without a care in the world. How could she have been so stupid? She groaned silently and tried to ease the nerves manifesting in her stomach with tempered breathing.

As suspected, she received the silent treatment after class and George stalked off with Lee in a huff. 

Great, she thought, another thing for her to apologize for. 

He was growing impatient at her resistance, and she couldn’t blame him. She half hoped that he would be the one to screw up next so she could cut it off clean. Or maybe this had been the last straw and he would tell her that he couldn’t do it anymore. It would hurt, but at least this torturous cycle of secrets and tension would end. 

She ignored her nerves for the rest of the day and focused on reading the 1981 book instead. She was long overdue for some solid investigating and honestly, it felt better to worry about Death Eaters than George at the moment. 

Hours after Sadie had gone to bed, she was still flipping through articles, stopping now and then to write down a new name to cross-reference with Hogwarts students later. She was a little surprised to see how many times Moody came up in photos, and at trials. He’d certainly put a target on his back over the years seeing as it seemed that half the cells in Azkaban were filled because of him. 

A little after midnight, she finally closed the book and went to sleep, excited to see the dragons again tomorrow. 

  
  


Sadie woke her up around 8 and they hurried to get dressed and stop for breakfast quickly before making the long trek up to the stadium. They decided to match again, with black jeans, sweaters, and corduroy jackets, giggling the entire way out of the dungeon. 

On the ascent, she decided to just have one good day with Sadie, without worrying about George or Death Eaters or anything. She would let herself be distracted by an entire day off. 

They grabbed a quick bite, joined arms, and marched off down the path with the rest of the students trickling out towards the tournament. 

“I think they’re way overrated,” she said to a disgruntled Sadie. 

“Listen, I don’t often think that you’re wrong, but you are absolutely wrong,” she fumed. 

Violet rolled her eyes. “They’re like any other boot! You’ve just been brainwashed!”

“Not true! They last a lifetime! I will have these shoes until I die. Actually after, because I want you to bury me in them!”

“But at what cost?” She retorted, shaking Sadies shoulder. “You were limping for a month trying to break them in! Doc Martens are a danger to society.”

“Especially when I wear them!” Sadie exclaimed, trying to trip Violet by stepping on her toes. They giggled and roughhoused through the trees, ignoring rolled eyes and annoyed looks from those around them. 

“Do you think I could’ve beaten a dragon Vi,” Sadie mused as they found their seats in the small coliseum overlooking a rocky pit below. 

“Sadie,” she said flatly, raising her eyebrows. 

“I’m serious! Give me your honest answer, hold no bars. I promise I can take it.”

“I think the dragon would’ve taken one look at you, and ran the other way,” she cooed.

Sadie smiled and wrapped an arm around her, squealing in delight. “You’re just telling me what I want to hear!”

She giggled and let Sadie talk her ear off a little more about how she would be a much better champion than Cedric and began searching the crowd, promising herself that she wasn’t looking for red hair. 

The professor’s box was across from them, but she wasn’t necessarily interested in what teachers had come down, so she looked over Sadie’s shoulder, towards the other part of the student section. The Gryffindors were seated a few feet away but she could only make out Ginny and Ron standing anxiously, rightfully nervous for Potter. 

She turned around and surveyed the other side of their row which was full of Durmstrang’s, craning her neck further to see all of Beauxbatons on the other side of them. The twins were nowhere to be seen but she stopped her frantic search and turned back to Sadie. If they were anywhere behind her, surely they could see her making a fool of herself by looking around for them. 

A safety warning from a tournament official boomed over the chattering crowd. It lasted a few moments before a cannon fired a few feet away and ripped everyone’s attention towards the pit where an official was placing a golden egg in the middle, and Charlie Weasley was towing in a massive dragon. 

She stood and hung over the railing to watch the large redhead manhandle a chain around the beast’s neck, securing it to the ground before running off with his comrades as the charm keeping the dragon from moving was released. Before exiting fully, she watched Charlie raise an arm to the crowd, and followed his line of sight. There they were. They stood next to Hermione, Ginny, and Ron, all of a sudden, with huge boxes around their necks. She couldn’t make out what they were for and turned back to the dragon before either could look up and see her watching. 

Diggory was up first and the Hogwarts crowd chanted his name with a fervor that shook the wooden stands. As she had suspected, Cedric did not use might or strength to take down his dragon. He cleverly transfigured a rock into a dog to distract it and then some blinding charm to contain the beast, just before he finally made it to the egg. Even though he wasn’t their top choice, she and Sadie jumped up and down and cheered along with the rest of the crowd. 

Krum followed and went for a more direct approach. Sadie roared louder than almost all the Durmstrang’s at him when he successfully caught the dragon in the eye with a hex and lunged for the egg. It was neither elegant nor clever but she had to commend him for bravery and sheer dumb luck. Despite Charlie’s promise to not put the monster in harm’s way, she suspected that the hex had in fact hurt the creature and glanced worryingly at Ginny who seemed to be too busy talking to her friends to notice.

The next dragon entered the arena and she couldn’t help but turn to look at George. Its green scales brought her right back to that day in the forest and even though the wizard didn’t notice her, she felt her cheeks redden. It did make sense though, she thought, turning back to watch Fleur enter the arena, the most beautiful dragon against the most beautiful opponent

She was on pins and needles during the entirety of the magnificent performance. Fleur managed to put the beast into a sleeping trance, to easily evade the fire from its snores and grab her egg in record time. She stood with the rest of the French witches to give her a standing ovation and ignored petered looks from the other houses.

Charlie quickly dragged the very last dragon into the pit and the crowd gasped as it reared its massive head and roared into the sky. It was quite unfair that the youngest and most unprepared, got the biggest dragon. She watched most of Potters attempt from behind her fingers and couldn’t bring herself to sit down once, until he successfully grabbed the egg after flying around like a maniac for nearly 15 minutes, scaring them all half to death. The crowd’s cheers were more in relief than in celebration but she joined along anyway and got Hermione’s attention to shoot her a supportive thumbs-up as she looked like she’d been on an intense emotional roller coaster. 

“Vi, I’m gonna walk back with Anastas, do you wanna tag along,” Sadie asked as the tall Bulgarian came up behind her. 

“No that’s alright, you two go on ahead,” she said. “Take care of her!” 

Anastas shot her a shy smile and hooked his arm around Sadie’s waist as she immediately began walking him through her reactions to what had just happened. It was nice to see her with someone so attentive, and willing to listen. 

She glanced down at the rocky pit one last time to watch Charlie pick up the remaining real dragon eggs in the nest, and then turned to walk down the winding stairs, and back onto the trail. 

It was well past lunch now and most other students had left as soon as Potter grabbed the egg, so the trail was mostly empty except for a few stragglers. The walk back was peaceful and easy as the afternoon sun cascaded over the red and orange trees but ultimately couldn’t penetrate the cool autumn breeze. Cheers from Gryffindors echoed throughout campus as Harry had somehow managed to pull of getting first place. She wove through the huge crowd in the courtyard and practically sprinted to the library, knowing that it would be empty for the rest of the day. 

She was right, of course, Madam Pince hadn’t even lit any candles or fireplaces, as she probably expected that most Hogwarts students had actual lives outside to being in the library, especially on a day off. She snuggled into her chair and opened a muggle book from her bag, breathing in the peace deeply. 

She escaped briefly for dinner but didn’t stay in the Great Hall long. Students were practically rabid with excitement from the events of the day. The hall was buzzing, and trashed with various ‘Potter stinks’ badges, rightfully discarded, along with other cheering materials. 

The book her mother had sent was, unfortunately, a love story. Normally, she devoured any and all material on the subject but now that she could feel the same pining described in dramatics, it just made her heartache. 

She paused her book briefly to sit at the window and watch the sunset when the heliotrope hue darkened the alcove. It was nothing remarkable, as she had come to prefer pink and orange, over purple and blue, but it would suffice. 

The sound of the large wooden doors creaking open and then slamming closed tore her gaze from the dwindling day outside. 

Probably Pince back from the festivities, she thought, listening to the single set of footsteps. She doubted the librarian would have any objections to her being there but hoped that she wouldn’t come and fuss over her due to the last time she found her in the library. 

Sadly, she had no such luck. 

Footsteps moved quickly down the center aisle. Her ears perked a little at their irregularity and speed. They weren’t prim and sharp like Madam Pince's, but rather, uneven and heavy. The stomping was a little frightening, especially since she knew she was completely alone among the books. She stood up from the window sill, ready to yell at whoever was coming to bother her, and flinched when a large body moved quickly directly at her.

“For fucks sake, George!” She bellowed at the redhead meandering around the corner. He took big stumbling steps and had a stupid grin on his face. “You scared me half to death!”

He giggled and sauntered over to her. “Shhhh Violet, this is the library.” 

“No shit, genius.”

“Shhhhhh!”

“What are you doing?”

He stumbled a little on the carpet. “Pretty, pretty Violet.”

His mannerisms seemed off. Usually, he walked everywhere like he was on a mission but now, he looked almost oblivious to his surroundings and without a care in the world. His face was more flushed than normal, and even in the light of the fire, she could tell he was bight red. She widened her eyes as fumbled with his scarf. 

“Are you drunk?”

He slumped sideways into the chair next to the window and looked up at her. “I’m only tipsy.”

Definitely tipsy. 

He slurred the few words as he spoke and let his head roll back and forth against the arm of the chair. It was rather fascinating to watch him be so intoxicated. The wheels in his head weren’t spinning at all, and very non-threatening incognizant wide eyes replaced his calculated stare. 

She squinted a little, trying to gauge his level of awareness. How had he made it down the moving stairs drunk? And why had he come here? It was unbelievable that Fred had let his brother wander around the castle all by himself like this. If Snape would’ve caught him, Gryffindor would’ve lost nearly all their house points, but she’d chastise him for that later. 

“What are you doing here?” She asked. 

He closed his eyes and finally stopped moving. “Come closer, I can’t hear you.”

“Liar,” she huffed. “Just tell me.”

He furrowed his brow and dramatically brought a hand up to his ear. “Violet, please, you need to come closer.

She rolled her eyes. He’d made it all the way down here just to what? Find her? She doubted that it was as simple as that but stepped forward and sat on the ottoman in front of the chair. She felt her heartbeat in her fingertips and looked him cooly in the face. His eyes were half-lidded like he was on the verge of falling asleep but as soon as they made eye contact, he was wide awake. 

“What are you doing here,” she asked again, more dreamily this time, like she couldn’t believe it was him who she was looking at. She blamed the tone on her romance novel.

His hand dropped from his ear and onto her lap. A shiver ran down her spine as his warm hand made contact with her thigh. Her words seemed to fall on deaf ears as he turned to the window and stared blankly. 

The cogs were turning again. 

She was desperate to know what he was thinking. Their choice words over the last few weeks had created a tension that she didn’t know what to do with.

She jumped slightly as he turned to her after a while and tangled his fingers in her hair, beckoning her closer. He pulled her in wordlessly with desperate eyes and a serious expression. She didn’t resist and placed a sweet peck on his puckered lips. He lingered for a moment longer, clearly wanting more but it didn’t feel right in his current state so she kissed the tip of his nose instead and let him slouch back onto the chair and drop his hand back to her leg. He stared silently out the window for a moment and then seemed to decide something. 

“Why do you always look like you regret it?” He whispered, not looking at her. 

The question punched her in the gut and she instantly broke out into a cold sweat.

“Regret what,” she mumbled, eyeing him with concern. 

Did he want to do this now? In his particularly precarious state? His hand gripped her leg in a punishing hold and he looked up at her. His sudden sadness almost made him look sober. 

“After we kiss,” he whispered again. “You always look like you wish you hadn’t done it.”

His words cut deep. She wouldn’t pretend not to understand what he was talking about, but she’d thought that she was doing a better job at hiding her nerves. 

“George… I don’t,” she spoke through the painful lump forming in her throat, threatening tears. “I never regret it.”

He shook his head. “You don’t need to lie, Vi. I can see it,” he said, raising his hand to point at the space between her eyebrows. “Right there.”

She flinched slightly as he spat the words out. Whatever he was thinking about before, he’d clearly made his mind up about. The anger and hostility weren’t unwarranted but they were unexpected.

“I’m not lying,” she stammered. “I promise, it isn’t regret, it’s just —” 

“Just what?”

“Can we please not do this now. You’re drunk, let me walk you back.”

“I’m not drunk,” he stated. 

“I beg to differ,” she countered. 

“I’m not,” he said forcefully, abandoning all carelessness that whatever amount of alcohol had given him. 

He swung his legs off of the arm of the chair and faced forward, towering over her, even sitting, and yanked the ottoman closer so that she sat huddled between his legs. The force knocked a gasp out of her. His eyes were ablaze. Any last hope that he’d drop the conversation vanished. 

“I’m not drunk, I’m just…it’s just erm…” he stuttered angrily. 

“George…” she begged.

“No…I read it….I just can’t remember…” 

George brought his forehead down to hers and mouthed words silently, trying to get something off of his chest. She tried to lean out from underneath him but his hands moved to her waist, holding her in place.

“It’s like Westley!” He finally exclaimed, shaking her torso slightly with his revelation.

“What?

“It's just like Westley and Buttercup! He was a farm boy but she didn’t care!”

She felt like the Hogwarts Express was barreling through her chest. He’d read her book? It made sense. Ginny was a smart girl, there no way it took her over a month to read a 500-page book. She must have lent it to him after.

He continued. “Even when she thought that he was a killer pirate, she didn’t care!” 

“George I…I don’t understand.” 

He brought his face into his hands, forcing her to rest her chin on top of his head because of their proximity. 

The alcohol on his breath made him smell more like cinnamon than usual. She wasn’t surprised that the Gryffindors had a secret stash of fire whiskey for celebrations like today but he should’ve just stayed in his red and gold tower, away from her, away from this conversation. They could’ve kept it up for at least another month or so but his alcohol-induced honesty made it clear that he was fed up with their arrangement. He was sensitive, and sweet, and felt things deeply. She was a fool for ever thinking he could play by the cold and secretive rules that she'd laid out. 

“Please, let's not do this,” she pleaded into his hair, desperate to steer them back to safety. 

He chuckled and shook his head.

She worked hard to blink back tears. “ _ Please _ .”

“That’s exactly the problem Vi. You don’t want to do this.” 

This was it. The bubble was about to burst. She knew deep down that she couldn’t keep stringing him along. She was well aware of the choices going forward but it seemed like he’d already made it for the both of them. 

If only they had more time. 

“You already know how I feel,” she whispered. “Isn’t that enough?”

He lifted his head so quickly that she almost fell on the floor. He held her up with an arm around the waist and pulled her in close; a reverse of how they’d been the last time she’d been thinking about running away from him on this chair. 

“I know,” he breathed lowly. It almost sounded like a command. His voice was rough and low from a long morning of yelling over dragons. The unusual serious, commanding aura made her knees weak. 

She simply nodded in agreement, afraid that any more words would set him off. 

“And you know how I feel about you,” his voice was like gravel as he leaned in closer, brushing his nose past hers. 

His lips crashed onto hers before she could take a breath. He held her in an unyielding grip, lips unmoving. She melted into him effortlessly and parted her lips, breathing him in, memorizing how his tongue felt against hers. 

If it was the last time, she would remember it well. 

He pressed into her deeply, gorging himself on her taste. The sounds coming from his chest didn’t sound like moans, but rather, animalistic growls, low and deep, rumbling in warning. She was helpless against his grip and let out breathy sighs as he took what he needed. 

Not a second later, he pulled away. 

She opened her eyes and met a cold, hard expression.

“But you won’t do that out there…will you?”

A tear fell against her cheek before she could stop it. He already knew the answer but he wanted to hear it. This time it would be concrete, she knew it. 

She shook her head. Her mouth was too dry to speak. 

The darkness she’d once craved flashed over him. Being the source of his anger once felt triumphant and now it left her empty and ashamed. 

He stood up without another word. 

No, no, no. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. She bit back a sob and found her voice before he stepped into the aisle. 

“George, please!” Her tears fell rapidly.

He whipped around tears of his own on his cheeks.

“Please, what?” His voice broke with the shout. It ricocheted off the empty alcove and vibrated a wave of anger deep within her. She’d told him her choice weeks ago and now he wanted to demand that she make a completely different one?

“You aren’t being fair! I told you the day you kissed me that I didn’t want anyone to know! But you still did it anyway, again and again,” she bellowed angrily. 

“You kissed me back!”

“Because I thought you understood.” 

He stared at her, practically shaking with anger and scoffed.

“Did you really think that I was just going to change my mind,” she yelled.

He searched her face like he couldn’t remember who she was, and then his expression snapped into a deeper anger.

“What do you want me to do, Vi? Touch you in secret and then play pretend like I don’t even know you during the day?”

“Yes! Why can’t that be enough for you,” she bellowed. He’d been sympathetic to her feelings last week and now he couldn’t do it anymore? Imagine how she felt!

“Because I hate watching you frantically look around every time we are together to make sure no one is watching! I hate feeling you flinch away from me! I’m not ashamed of you Violet, or my feelings!” 

“Neither am I!”

“Yes you  _ are _ ! You are so ashamed that you’d rather let Malfoy and the rest of them control what you do, rather than just be with me!”

“No that's— that’s just—you just… you don’t understand,” she stuttered angrily. His analysis was acute and accurate, but hurtful none the less.

“So help me to understand!”

He was standing in front of her, begging, and in tears but she just couldn’t. She would rather that he hate her for this, than know the truth. At least this way, he might be able to forgive her. At least this wouldn’t change how he looked at her. He would think that she was selfish, or unfeeling, but at least when he looked at her, he wouldn’t see a monster. 

If bravery was his fatal flaw, self-preservation was hers.

“I can’t,” she choked out. 

“Then neither can I.”

He stared at her in contempt. Hurt and anger swirled on his face, warping his expression into something she’d never seen. She was embarrassed for crying in front of him but with each tear that fell onto her cheek, his hard exterior seemed to melt away. His lips parted and his expression softened as she choked out a sob. She nearly ran past him and away from this awful encounter but he took a step closer.

“Violet,” he said softly.

She put her face in her hands and let her tears fall, praying that when she looked back up again, he’d be gone. He didn’t move and neither did she, her sniffles the only thing breaking the silence between them.

It wasn’t fair that it had to be this way but in the end, it was she who had drawn hard lines in the sand and just expected him to be ok with it. She knew then, what she knew now, that the stipulation with such little explanation was utterly unbearable for anyone. Especially someone as smart as George.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you after the train, you know,” he whispered. The change in tone took her by surprise.

“I spent five years never speaking a word to you and then out of nowhere, I couldn't turn a fucking corner without seeing you,” he continued. 

His face was broken and serious when she looked up. As the words washed over her, she knew that this was going to hurt like hell. She wanted so badly to interrupt and tell him how she felt, to the furthest extent but the lump in her throat wouldn’t let her speak. So she just stared; startled and silent.

“You outsmarted me, made me feel like an ass, and pissed me off but I couldn’t even sleep without seeing your smug, know-it-all face,” his voice broke slightly. 

He ran a hand roughly through his hair and took another step towards her, still keeping her about a foot away. 

“And then suddenly I felt all of these strange things like….like actually being excited for every stupid potions lecture and every pointless charms lesson. It didn’t make sense because I hate classes…I hate going to classes — I can barely stand them without some prank to pass the time and then out of nowhere, I could hardly wait to sit at a desk for hours on end, can you believe that?”

He chuckled slightly and stared down at his shoes. 

“I really couldn’t, and then I realized…that it was you, I was just excited to be around you.”

“Don’t…” she begged but he silenced her with a sorrowful glare. 

“From the very first moment we spoke of the train, you saw me —  _ really _ saw me. The way you looked at me, I mean, I could tell you hated me, which was entirely mutual by the way…but you  _ just _ hated me, specifically  _ me _ .”

His voice broke at the admission. Truthfully, she had never really hated him and despised that he’d ever thought so.

“What I’m trying to say, Vi is that I’ve been lumped in with Fred my entire life, happily at that, but it was only because I’d never had anyone _ see me _ before. I’d never had anyone look at me the way that you looked at me. The way that you  _ always _ look at me. Even now, it takes my breath away.”

He stopped for a moment and reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. She held her breath as he paused with his hand against her face, stroking her cheek with his thumb to wipe a tear away. 

“Every time I talked to you after that, I felt more and more like myself. It felt like… like I had been waiting… waiting for you to come along and pull it out of me. And now I quite like who I am—who I get to be…when I’m with you.”

“You’re making it worse,” she croaked out despite the anguish in her chest.

He cleared his throat, quelling the last of his tears.

“I know but you have to know why I can’t, Violet.”

He waited for her to push him away further but she stayed quiet.

“I wish I could do this, for you, but I can’t. I just can’t be the best version of myself in secret. I want you with me always and it’ll hurt too much to hide it. I am yours but…I want you to be mine, as well.”

She found herself silently gasping for breath. She’d long suspected it but he’d just confirmed that he wasn’t just using her to pass the time or flirting for boredom’s sake. It was as real for him as it was for her, and now it was ruined. 

“I…George… I —“

“I know,” he whispered.

He didn’t wait for a response, because deep down he probably knew that it didn’t change the circumstance of whatever was holding her back. 

“Have a good night, Vi.”

He kissed her forehead and then walked away without giving her a second glance. 

_ I want you to be mine.  _

_ Mine _ . Mine. Mine. Mine.

The word bounced in her head, down into her chest, ricocheting off of her ribs, until it punctured a lung. She let out a shaking sob and fell back into the chair. 

_ I want you with me always… _

The fire in her chest lapped at her throat. No cry or sob could extinguish it but she tried over and over until the library doors opened again and she heard Madam Pince’s heels click into her office. 

She swallowed the rest of her cries with a hand cupped over her mouth and compartmentalized the longing sadness, wiped away her tears, and pulled herself together for the short trek back to the dungeon. 

Tears started falling as soon as she made it back into her room. Sadie was already asleep so she silently wept into her pillow. 

It had never even begun and yet, it was over. 

It was over.

And it was her fault. 


	20. Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the late update, I got distracted with a few other stories I am starting! I should be back to weekly posting from here on out. Also, I know the last chapter broke some hearts but I promise that there is a happy ending! Thanks for reading!

George wasn’t in potions the next morning. Not that she minded.

She’d gone to bed feeling somber but had woken up utterly enraged. His absence made it occur to her that he might be blaming her for all of this, which, was preposterous. 

He knew how she felt about their relationship from the very beginning and pressed forward anyway. He knew her boundary and didn’t care. It was selfish but then again, so was she. It seemed as though their shortcomings were excellently matched, making them the perfect storm for failure.

She’d heard that some Gryffindors had taken the day off to celebrate Potters win, and hoped that was the case. The anxious thudding in her chest slowed to its normal pace and she let out a little sigh of relief as Snape began his lecture for the day and the chair next to her was still empty. She would have rather gotten their first encounter over with but it would just have to be a later date. The future confrontation gave her an anxious pit in her stomach but she did feel the slightest bit accomplished for being braver than he was. 

She glanced over to Lee to see if maybe he was glaring at her in contempt but he seemed as chipper as always, nudging Adrian to look at something he’d drawn on a piece of parchment. They hadn’t necessarily warmed up to one another, but Adrian no longer looked like he wanted to wring the Gryffindors neck. 

Maybe they were in the midst of a secret affair as well. 

She let out a short breathy laugh at the thought. Unlikely, but they were about as compatible as she and George. She glanced back over at the pair and tried to ignore the regret pooling in her chest. Friendship seemed easier and much more uncomplicated. Just look at her and Fred. They spoke about the business on occasion, and waved at one another in the hall, but nothing more than that. It was not all-consuming or complex but rather, perfectly inconspicuous. And right now, decidedly better than her relationship with his twin.

When Snape’s lecture ended, she kept her head down on the way to her next class, completely unwilling to acknowledge any of her peers. She thought she heard some laugher and yells that signaled some sort of commotion was going on but did not stop to investigate.

It had been weeks since she properly paid attention in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Months ago, all she could think about was Death Eaters and a great war but it all seemed so small and distant now. It wasn’t of course, as Moody reminded them constantly. Vigilance, terrifying creatures, the constant threat of death, and all that. It was difficult to take it all seriously now though. Fear had been a constant in her head for so long. Fear of Malfoy, rejection from her peers, drawing too much attention to herself, never seeing her family again; nothing had ever made it fade away so effortlessly as George. She hadn’t even noticed that it had practically disappeared as soon as she began spending more time with the redhead. 

It was lovely while it lasted but her delayed fear made Moody’s lecture hit like a train. 

It was probably time to restart her research, and eavesdropping anyway. Time had gotten away from her and there had been little progress made in her insurgency endeavors. She promised herself that it would be the top priority now that her schedule had been freed up. 

That and her position in the company, of course, if they would still have her.

She hadn’t even given the company a thought since that night with George. Thank goodness they’d started the polyjuice potion last week. If she had to spend another evening alone with him in her current emotional state, there would be little hope for an amicable reconciliation.

In a month though, there would be no avoiding it. 

Surely after a month, he would be over his fascination with her. Someone else would look at him the way that he’d clearly imagined that she had. She did see him as he’d said, but so did everyone else. She’d stared at the mirror this morning, trying to understand how he could tell how she felt about him. It was true, she knew him before his brother, and recognized him every time, beyond the freckle trick that she’d revealed. But he was right, it was only because of the level of hatred she’d once held towards him. How was that endearing? How was that how he wanted to be looked at? Her melancholy feelings crept back up, pricking the corners of her eyes with salty sadness, but she ushered them away. 

Maybe, if they both had time apart, they could be friends. 

Friends. Her chest felt heavy at the thought. 

How would she look at him then? Even before, when they were more enemies than anything else, he’d sensed her feelings. She was certain about it. That’s why he hadn’t second-guessed wrapping his arms around her on the chair, and whispering sweet sentiments in her ear. She’d seen him but he’d seen her too. 

Now, with it all out on the table, would he see her differently? Would he even want to be her friend? Would she want to be his? 

Her anger violently tried to push any thought of reconciliation out of her head but she’d let George linger too long in her consciousness, and a permanent softness existed where disdain once had.

It didn’t matter, she thought, quelling her tears. She’d deal with whatever disappointment and sadness she saw in his eyes when it came. If he ever looked at her again.

It’s better this way, she chanted to herself.

Her heart was broken but it was better this way. 

____________________________

Thursday morning the entirety of Slytherin made their way into the common room. Normally, a house-wide announcement would have her head pounding with possibilities, but she didn’t even take the time to formulate any guesses or theories about it. Even when she saw that all of the furniture and clutter had been moved, creating an open area that was almost as large as a ballroom, she felt nothing. 

She sat with Sadie and the rest of the girls on one side of the room, while the boys sat on the other. There weren’t usually opportunities like this to stare directly at the entire male population of her house, and looking at them now, she hoped others wouldn’t arise. 

It wasn’t that they were ugly, or even particularly evil….just joyless. Unfortunately, a certain kind of childhood yielded itself to the development of particular Slytherin qualities. Seriousness, inspired by constant overthinking and conspiring didn’t necessarily create a joyful environment. At least in most Slytherin girls, it manifested itself in more of an air of energetic cunning. To others, the attitude might be mistaken for bitchiness but she preferred her peer’s pension for particularity and lack of personableness. It aided her quest for minimal interaction and maintaining her daily quota of hours in isolation. Of course, these were generalizations and there were certainly cons to the room of students who always seemed too similar to get along but looking at them all now, she didn’t feel horribly uncomfortable. 

Snape stood silent, near the fireplace, waiting for them to settle before opening his mouth to speak. “I have the unfortunate task of announcing to you all, the upcoming…Yule Ball,” he sneered.

Whispers erupted but a quick glare from the head of house silenced them all. 

The universe had to be playing with her at this point; a ball?

“It is tradition for this dance to be held in tandem with the Triwizard tournament, on Christmas Eve night. All houses and foreign guests will gather in the Great Hall for an evening of…merriment.”

He flicked his wand and a somber waltz began playing. 

“Dance lessons begin now so that you do not embarrass me, or this house. Find a partner.” 

The last thing she would like to be doing at this exact moment in time was dancing, but it seemed like she had no choice. Sadie led the charge over to the boy’s side and grabbed Theo Knott by the collar, he looked somewhere between terrified and aroused as she dragged him to the dance floor. Pansy chose Malfoy, thank Godric, and a few of the other more sully boys got partnered off immediately.

Adrian Pucey gave her a wave. 

He would do just fine. 

“Hey,” she said, as they followed Snape’s instructions on how to properly place their hands to elegantly hold one another. 

“Thanks for saving me from dancing alone,” he said with a tight, polite smile. His eyes wandered away from her and he seemed to be as lost in thought as she was. It was refreshing to be near someone who wasn’t insistent on forcing a conversation. 

He really was the least worst Slytherin boy. From what she could tell, he hadn’t said a word about George practically fondling her in class, even now, he didn’t look like he was going to bring it up.

She smiled in agreement and focused on getting the steps and rhythm right. He was a terrible dancer but kept his eyes straight ahead, and hand appropriately placed on her upper back, so she couldn’t complain too much. 

She led them around the room with rhythmic steps and smooth swaying. 

She was content until her heart sank a bit. 

The rest of the houses were probably doing something similar. That meant that George was probably dancing with someone else that he found moderately tolerable. 

Who would it be? 

The only Gryffindor girls she could picture off the top of her head were Hermione and Ginny, both bad bets. There were a few girls on the quidditch team that she could see him with. It was probably one of them. The black hole in her chest threatened to release itself on the room at the thought.

_Breath. Step. Breath. Step. Breath._

She held no claim to him whatsoever….so this shouldn’t both her. 

It was over and done. He’d poured his heart out to her and it hadn’t made a difference. She couldn’t let it make a difference. 

Adrian suddenly got the hang of the beat and lead them to spin closer around the other couples, who were quietly chatting, holding each other tight, or blushing.

He really had poured his heart out, she thought. 

She hadn’t ever believed that he was capable of so much emotion. The multitudes of his personality were unexpected; business savvy, a need for individuality, and unwavering righteousness. It was stunning, really. His view of everything was so black and white, good and bad. She felt guilty for being somewhere in the grey. 

She focused on the walls over Adrian’s shoulders and replayed his speech over and over in her head to fend off the dizziness that accompanies their spins. Her heart fluttered. He wasn’t grey about her though, not in the slightest. His words from last night washed over her, making her knees weak. 

_Mine_. 

_Mine. Mine. Mine._

_I want you with me always._

Adrian went to lift her as Snape instructed. His hands wrapped around her waist and crushed unpleasantly against her rib cage, making her wince. 

Fuck, she thought, there was so much movement. The combination of guilt, sadness, and swaying was making her dizziness worse. 

_Mine_. 

She shut her eyes and focused on the patterns her feet were tapping into the stone. 

_1, 2, 3, 4._

_1, 2, 3, 4._

_1, 2, 3, 4._

Who was he dancing with now? Was she was making him laugh? Cheering him up? What if she’d spent her years in Gryffindor waiting for the perfect moment to approach him, and tell him that she saw him. What if in his sadness, he saw her too? What if she gave him exactly what he needed? She probably actually liked pranks and went out of her way to make him laugh. Would they have a Spring wedding? 

She opened her eyes and looked at Adrian, he was still busy staring off over her head, not paying attention in the slightest. If he was an Occlumens, he was great at hiding it. 

As soon as Snape permitted them to leave, she disappeared from Adrian’s grasp before he could even say goodbye, and sprinted out of the room, briefly telling Sadie that she wasn’t feeling well.

Her bed welcomed her back with plush comfort.

All she could do was sulk, and hold onto the only physical remnant of her relationship with George.

His apology letter was worn after being read almost every night but it `nothing a quick Reparo charm couldn’t fix. The torn corners wove themselves back together and the ink sharpened and stuck out from the page once more. 

This is what she wanted. It was a clean break and George didn’t think she was evil…so why did it feel so terrible?

Did she do the right thing?

Well, there was hardly a right and a wrong in this circumstance, at least to her. Both of her options were ultimately selfish. One ensured self-preservation, but the other sacrificed George to life-altering information that might even leave him more heartbroken. 

Both ways she would hurt him. 

She stewed on it the whole day, subconsciously trying to find a solution where she could have exactly what she wanted. Eventually, she realized that the issue wasn’t her limited options, it was her. Anyway, she cut it, the thing that would always hurt him in the end, was her.

Even in friendship, she would shirk away from his touch, and be distant enough to remain untethered. He would notice, no doubt, and be hurt, even if they weren’t romantically linked. 

She fell asleep wondering what life would be like happened if Lee never stopped being her potions partner. 

_______________________

Friday morning she shot out of bed, dressed in another all-black outfit, hardened her expression, rolled her shoulders back, gathered her homework and the 1981 book, and marched solemnly out into a world where she no longer got to kiss George Weasley. 

At lunch, she mustered up the courage to briefly flit over to the Gryffindor table to where Ginny sat alone, and hand her a piece of parchment. 

“Hey Ginny,” she said, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. “Could you give this to George for me?”

“What is it,” the redhead scrunched her nose and stuffed the paper into her pocket. 

“Erm, it’s just instructions for a potion we are working on.”

She furrowed her brow. “Why can’t you do it?”

Right. He’d never properly told his siblings anything about the romantic side of their relationship, so why would he tell them that it had ended.

“I’m just busy and I can’t make it…to um help them, is all. So just make sure that you tell him these are the instructions for the next month. Okay?”

Ginny eyed her suspiciously. “Alright.”

She turned to leave but Ginny held out a finger. 

“Oh wait, I almost forgot,” she dug around in her bag and pulled out the book. “I finished this a few weeks ago!”

She smiled and took the familiar blue hardcover from her hand. “Thanks.”

“Of course! Do you still want to talk about it over lunch sometime?” 

Violets smile widened. “Yeah, that sounds great.” 

“Wicked. Alright, bye Vi.”

Violet turned from her friend and quickly walked away from the table before any of Ginny’s siblings could join. She felt kind of guilty for exclusively avoiding George and not anyone else in his family but the Weasleys would be expecting her to act the same way that she always had around them, because they didn’t know any better. She scolded herself for not seeing this as another inconvenient side effect of their entanglement. At least now he would be able to tend to the polyjuice potion for the next few weeks without her. In three weeks, there would be no avoiding it though, and she’d have to be in his room again, brewing for hours to get the potion right. 

She shook the anxiety from her head. That bridge wasn’t here yet, so she wouldn’t cross it. 

For now, she’d delve into something a lot less menacing. 

She plopped down in the library, trying to forget the several George related memories now attached to it, and began flicking through the Daily Prophet book.

She searched for hours, for any information, any familiar name, any clue but after the sun went down, her eyelids wouldn’t let her continue. The articles droned on and on, only occasionally having a tidbit to do with the war. She knew all the latest fashion trends, quidditch game scores, and local weddings but was nowhere near as much knowledgable about Death Eater accusations as she was hoping. It was like searching for a needle in a haystack, except worse because she wasn’t even sure if there was a needle to begin with, or what to do with the needle if she ever found it. 

What would she do, if she found something of use?

There wasn’t officially an enemy yet, thusly, there was no reason to organize troops or whatever they did during the first war. Additionally, all those who were alive during that time already knew who was accused and imprisoned, or accused and let go. Certainly, if that information was any good to them, they’d already be doing something about it. On the other hand, it was entirely possible that many of them, like her father, had taken their victory as an excuse to remain completely oblivious to any nefarious activity in recent years. It was true that they all deserved a break for surviving such traumatic times, but history was doomed to repeat itself and it seemed like no one but her was aware of what might be on the horizon. Except for Moody, of course, although his fears and vigilance didn’t seem to be entirely based in reality.

Regardless of who was or wasn’t watching, she needed to know, at least for herself. 

___________________

The weekend dragged by and Violet had no motivation to do much of anything so she stayed in her room to do homework and received only the smallest bit of joy from writing her mother and sister about sending a dress for the Yule Ball. 

Maybe last year she would’ve been able to get excited about getting dressed up and finding a date but now it just seemed pointless. Maybe she could just go stag. A great thought in theory but it was unlikely that Sadie would allow it.

_Dear Mom and Liv,_

_First, I miss you like crazy. Secondly, I’m sure you’ve both heard about the tournament taking place this year. The first task was last week and I wish you all could’ve been here to watch it. Each champion had to maneuver around a dragon to retrieve a golden egg that they were protecting. They all got by pretty much unscathed but I nearly had a heart attack the entire time. Don’t ask me how, but a few days before the task I got to see the dragons up close. They were so beautiful, but dad would’ve been terrified. There was a green one that you both would’ve loved. No one knows what the next task will be but I’ll let you know if I hear anything._

_Thirdly, school work is good but most of my classes have become pretty repetitive. I won’t bore you with talk about potions, just know that I’m having the time of my life. Sadie is the same as always, she asked me to pass along her love, especially to you Liv. She’s excited to show you around next year, whether you like it or not._

_Lastly, I do have a favor to ask of the both of you, and dad I suppose, if he’d like to help, although I doubt it. On Christmas Eve, the school is hosting a ball in tradition with the tournament. It was just announced a few days ago so I didn’t pack a dress that would be suitable. Unfortunately, it’s a formal event, so you’ll need to go out and get something new, I don’t think I own anything quite elegant enough. I relinquish all control to you about what you pick but I do have one small request. I’d like the dress to be purple if that’s at all possible. I can’t wait to see what you pick out, I’m sure it’ll be beautiful._

_Well, that’s all I can think of on this front. I miss you. I love you._

_Violet_

She had paused her quill so many times, itching to tell them all about George but it was too long of a story to write out and the owl might accidentally drop it, making one of her peers privy to the relationship. It was too risky for that reason alone but more importantly, how would she write to her family about her shame? How would her father feel? She’d never even thought about how similar his position was to her problem. Despite his brother being a murderous Death Eater, her mother still loved him. It was probably easier though, seeing as she wasn’t from the wizarding world and never knew the extent to which the Dark Lord reigned. 

She sent off the letter without any mention of the boy who she feared would never want to talk to her again and continued sulking.

_____________________

On Monday morning, it felt like there was a ball and chain latched onto her ankle on the walk to potions. She almost let it weigh her down completely, skipping class and avoiding the confrontation, but angering Snape was not wise.

Again, she entered to find her table empty. The sight didn’t do anything to disperse the butterflies in her stomach though. She knew he wouldn’t miss another class this late into the term because although he would never admit it, he did try to maintain somewhat presentable grades. She sat down and tried to monitor her breathing to distract herself from the inevitability of being near him again, and the fact that the last time they were together he’d had tears in his eyes.

He came in just a few minutes before Snape did and sat down without a word. 

His presence normally filled the room, unable to ignore, or turn away from, but today, he felt small. It was like there was a crack in reality and he’d managed to disappear to another timeline, one where he’d never managed to muster a smile. And it was all because of her. The guilt of that; the misery that she’d caused was almost too much to bear. 

She was still angry but any hope of an apology disappeared. His aura made her consider that perhaps, despite what her heart was telling her, she’d hurt him worse than he’d hurt her. His only shortcoming was that he wanted to be with her. Her’s was that she was keeping secrets. On the space-time continuum of relationship wrongdoings, she was not coming out smelling like daisies. 

She was too nervous to glance over at his face but imagined that it was similar to the one he’d made when she shook her head a final time in the library. She settled for his hands instead. He gripped his textbook on the desk tightly, making the veins underneath his freckled skin visible. Whatever he was feeling, it was clear he wasn’t going to acknowledge her. 

_It is for the best._

Neither of them spoke or moved as Snape’s lecture droned on and on. She kept her hands placed in her lap and he tensely held his book. Her lungs screamed for air but George seemed so skittish that one small exhale could send him running. 

It seemed odd to not say anything to one another. When the bell tolled, should she say something? What would she even say?

Sorry, I can’t give myself to you completely? I’m afraid my housemates will skin me alive for dating a Weasley? And then hand me over to you to finish the job when you find out that there’s Death Eater blood in my veins?

What would his moral compass say about that? That was the definition of a grey area and for someone who saw everything so black and white, the revelation might make his brain bleed. 

It hurt to see him so upset and disassociated but she knew it could be worse. At least he was here, sitting next to her and not cursing her name into oblivion. Even if his aura was off, his presence was enough. She doubted he felt the same. 

Thankfully, Lee swept over to their table after the bell tolled and started chatting George’s ear off about something Quidditch related, releasing her from the anxious silence between them while she decided whether or not to speak. He didn’t so much as look at her as he got up and followed the rest of their peers out of the door. 

She finally exhaled and allowed her shoulders to relax. That was the longest hour and a half of her life and it couldn’t happen again. The tension was just too much for her to take for the rest of the term. The guilty feeling was lead in her lungs, and heat in her throat. She would rather hate him than feel whatever this was.

Her walk to Ancient Runes was more somber than anything. Obviously, the more intimate and romantic part of their relationship was over but the complete silence was unexpected. Even if they couldn’t be together, there at least had to be a way to get him to speak to her. 

The weight of repairing their friendship rested solely on her shoulders. She could feel the penitence sinking its teeth into her skin, poisoning her body and mind. There would be no rest until he would look at her again. She wanted desperately to be angry. To take no fault at all and be satisfied by holding a grudge against him but she felt so distinctly weak against any negative feeling towards him. 

Violet tried to focus on homework in the library but abandoned the attempt pretty quickly when Sadie came and asked if she wanted to get dinner. 

She wasn’t used to the Great Hall’s busy dinner rush, seeing as she usually ate at the later end of the dinner hour. Every table was buzzing with hungry, talkative students, even the Slytherin table seemed to be giddy. Ever since the Yule Ball was announced, the castle’s energy hadn’t dwindled for a second. It was sweet, to see everyone get nervous about asking dates, and gossiping about who was asking who, even if she didn’t feel in the holiday party mood. There was usually a fair amount of dating that went on at Hogwarts due to the sheer size of the castle, and lack of anything else to do besides school work and activities. She glanced over to the Gryffindor table, scanning for red hair. The twins sat with their siblings and a few other people she recognized from various classes. The peek was enough to confirm that George was acting normal around everyone else, except for her. She tried not to, but couldn’t help but stare at him throughout her meal over Sadie’s shoulder. 

That night she fell asleep imagining what it would have been like to dance freely in George’s arms at the Yule Ball. 


	21. The Bulgarian

_Lively music filtered through the Great Hall. George held her in the courtyard, shielding her from the chill, and swaying lightly._

_“I love you, Vi.”_

_The words washed over her and nearly stopped her heart. She gazed up at him, eager to tell him how she felt but the sky above his head caught her attention first._

_The Dark Mark appeared over the castle, engulfing the highest towers in a Slytherin green smoke. Air disappeared, time stopped, and George vanished._

_Dark figures appeared from every entrance to the courtyard but there was no one to save or be saved by._

_All she could do was scream. All alone._

The overwhelming smell of peppermint hit her in the face upon entering Herbology. She nearly choked on the sharp, cold scent as it rushed through her throat and lungs, freezing tissue as she had no choice but to catch her breath from the long walk down from the castle. 

Professor Sprout had brought in hundreds of small peppermint flowers from the outdoor gardens, saving the delicate petals from a perilous winter. The lecture went in one ear and out the other as she stared at the miniature white fields covering every table and bench. 

Suddenly, it dawned on her, this could be an olive branch.

It was how he’d apologized to her twice, so long ago. Regret pulled at her heartstrings. She’d destroyed both of them without so much as a thought and probably deserved the same from him. 

She caressed the closest bud, imagining it being held by George’s large hands, and trying not to be envious. If she could bring him the entirety of the greenhouse, and shower him in pure flora until he forgave her, she would, but perhaps he’d be just as persuaded with the familiar sight of a single white flower, even if he felt like destroying it. 

She plucked one from the closest vine and slipped it carefully into her bag before Professor Sprout of any of her peers were the wiser and escaped to the library.

It was no surprise that the alcove was empty and rather cold when she arrived because Hermione had been missing for the past few weeks. She assumed that it was due to the new appearance of Quidditch superstar, Viktor Krum in the library. The girls had exchanged a strange look when he first showed up and sat at the end of Hermione’s table with a book he had no trouble abandoning to gawk. He’d become a regular in their space and just as she had been avoiding the topic of George, Hermione avoided any discussion of what the Northman’s motive might be, even if they both already knew the answer. She lit the fireplace and a few candles before settling into a couch by the fire. Her chair, in recent days, had begun to feel less like home and more like a calloused prison. It held too many memories and she always left the chair feeling sourer than when she’d entered. The couch, however, was fresh from unidentified feelings and complex emotions. 

She opened the Daily Prophet book and laid across the scratchy velvet, propping her head up on a pillow. 

Back to reading decades-old gossip columns and praying for any trial information. 

The progress that she’d made was, rather abysmal. Her uncle was killed at the very beginning of the year, and she’d only made it to February because the Daily Prophet published an issue a day. The book didn’t look so daunting from its magically shrunken size but regardless, all the pages were there and she had somewhere around 320 days to go. 

February 13th, 1981 stared her in the face. 

Lovely, a Valentine’s Day preview. 

She rolled her eyes while skimming the love stories, gift guides, romantic date spot ideas, and meet-cute stories. That just wouldn’t cut it today. 

There had been no mention of the war for weeks. She found it unlikely that an article about her uncle and one other about Lucious Malfoy’s trial and few other death eaters going to Azkaban were the highlights of the year that the war ended. She toyed with the back of the book. Maybe things started up again later in the year? The Daily Prophet had probably seen their share of terrible news, it was understandable if they wanted to give the public a break. She made a mental note to come back to Valentine’s Day and flipped to a random page towards the end. 

November 16th, 1981

_KARKAROFF TRIAL SET_

A photo of a black and white-clad prisoner, dirty and unshaven, screaming soundlessly filled the whole page and she nearly choked on her next breath.

She pressed the book to her chest and clamored out of the couch to make sure no one was behind her. For a moment her heart stopped, thinking of the worst-case scenario of Krum sitting at Hermione’s table, watching her realize his Headmaster’s dark secret, but the room was empty. She felt her heartbeat increase in her chest and tried to focus the brain cells that were scattering off into all sorts of hypotheticals. He’d been in the castle this whole time? Did Dumbledore know? Did Moody?

She couldn’t risk anyone else seeing the page so she fled to the corner where she and George kissed for the first time and slumped to the floor. The pile of books taller than both the twins stacked on top of each other hid her as she peeled the book off of her jumper and braved a glance.

_Igor Karkaroff is set to reappear in front of the Wizengamot in a week’s time. The known Death Eater was sentenced to life in Azkaban for crimes against muggle-born witches and wizards in 1980. The Council of Magical Law will hear new information in his case and issue a retrial if revelations about his innocence are made. It is said by those close to the court that Karkaroff has information regarding the identities of wanted Death Eaters still at large or on the run._

She inhaled a shaky breath. 

The known Death Eater, Igor Karkaraoff. 

It took her a moment to fully process the words, and then it hit her like a train. A _real_ Death Eater was here, in the castle, every day. There was an abstract image of those who followed the murderous creed of a monster in her head but the reality of those people existing and walking in the world as if nothing had happened, hadn’t occurred to her. She must have passed him over a hundred times in the Great Hall, at meals, or in the courtyard and somehow, hadn’t smelled the death, decay, or guilt on him. She closed her eyes and tried not to think about the countless times Sadie had been in the Durmstrang dorms with only a daft Northman as protection. Her fears being subdued as a result of George’s glorious presence in her life had seemed like a good thing, but now, she had a sinking suspicion that it had made her soft. If she wasn’t looking at red hair, would she have seen who Igor Karkaraoff really was? Who else had she missed? She knew there were more that got off free, but more importantly, Karkaraoff knew too, and he’d told the world. 

She ripped through the next seven days’ worth of articles, desperate to see his face again in court. November 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, were all there and then the month stopped. She furrowed her brow, staring at December 1st’s front page. There had to be a mistake. He was due to reappear in a week, on November 23rd, 1981 but that page was missing. She flipped back and forth, counting the days, making sure she had read it right, but it was the same. The article alluded to the fact that there would be a follow-up article after his trial but there was nothing. How could nine days be missing? She stared in disbelief at the space between the 22nd and the 1st of December in disbelief when something caught her eye. 

Small paper scraps at the spine. 

She pressed the pages down as far apart as they would go, practically flattening it in half completely and her eyes widened. The pages weren’t non-existent, they had just been ripped out of the book. The shorn ivory remnants between the pages were all that was left of the evidence she needed. It mocked her. 

There were indeed answers, but someone else had found them first.

Her mind raced as she closed the book, grabbed her bag, and sprinted out of the library. It was irrational, but she needed to be somewhere that he had no access to. Too many thoughts were racing through her mind and something about being out in the open with phantom menaces around every corner made it impossible to sort them out.

She made it to her room, and to a piece of parchment with little incident, other than having to dodge out of sight of Ginny and a few of her Gryffindor friends in the hallway. Sadie would be expecting her at lunch at 12:00 so she only had an hour in their room to write down what she knew so far, and organize her thoughts.

The blank page was more daunting than the article itself. She leaned over the page, hesitating to put pen to it. What was the point of writing it all down, or formulating a plan? She couldn’t very well go accuse him of being an active Death Eater when she’d seen no other evidence of it. Besides, surely all the adults in the school already knew and had allowed him here anyway.

Whether it was for a future plan or her own sanity, she started writing. 

_What I know so far_

  1. _The Dark Mark reappeared at the Quidditch World Cup a week before classes at Hogwarts started._
  2. _Moody killed my uncle but doesn’t recognize my face or name. Which is odd._
  3. _Lucious Malfoy was a Death Eater but claimed innocence by way of the Imperious curse._
  4. _Lucious Malfoy and Draco Malfoy were both at the Quidditch world cup and seemingly unafraid of the death eater attacks, according to eye-witnesses._
  5. _Igor Karkaroff was a Death Eater with information about the identities of other Death Eaters._
  6. _Someone else knew this information before the first week of classes, and ripped out the evidence, but didn’t take the whole book._



It all made sense but things were missing. She could see little holes, keeping the true narrative at arm’s length. They were all connected, she could feel it in her bones but couldn’t see the narrative. Something ate away at the back of her brain, whispering that she knew more than what was on the page. What else was there? She closed her eyes and let the thoughts wander to sort themselves out without her guidance. What else was strange, and completely circumstantial?

_7\. The Triwizard tournament is at Hogwarts this year._

Yes. That couldn’t be a coincidence. There was no way. 

Although it happened every five years, the schools rotated, meaning the last time it was here was sometime in the 1970s. The tournament didn’t just feel like part of the chaos, but rather, the catalyst. If there was indeed a Death Eater resurgence happening, they didn’t seem shy about their attacks and might be waiting for another large event in the wizarding world to strike. 

It was possible but not entirely likely. No matter how evil they were, it seemed fruitless to attack school children. Surely the Ministry of Magic or a prominent figure would be first. 

She stared at the list, repeating each fact over and over again. There was no doubt about it, something was coming. The new revelation should’ve made her excited but the sinking dreadful feeling felt worse. She was a one-woman army with no sense of direction or allies. The information was meaningless if not shared. Whatever was going to happen could not be avoided if she was the only one who was ready for it.

She needed to find out what was on those pages, and who took them. That was the first step. Identifying an enemy would give some weight to her conspiracy. If there was indeed something nefarious going on, the first suspect on her list was Karkaroff. But he was a suspect, purely because he was the only name that she knew and even then, that didn’t entirely explain the book. Why would he take the pages about his second trial but not the article with the gigantic photo of his face on it? 

She glanced up at the clock, 11:58. 

_Dammit_.

She shoved the book under her bed, more sure than ever that it needed to be hidden, and sprinted out the door. 

“You’re late,” Sadie shouted from the door of the Great Hall. 

She glanced down at her wristwatch. “It’s 12:05.”

“Still late!”

Sadie gripped her arm angrily and lead them both towards their usual seats. 

“What’s your problem?” 

Her dark-haired friend shot her a glare from across the table. Her usual fiery eyes seemed sort of flat, and Violet suddenly felt guilty for paying less attention to her dear friend in recent weeks. She hadn’t meant to but she’d let Sadie take a back seat to George and her quest for Death Eater answers.

“Hey, are you alright?” She reached across the table and grabbed her somber friend’s hand. 

Sadie looked up and shot her a half-smile. “Yes, it’s nothing,” she mumbled. 

Silence fell between them as they loaded their plates with lunch. She couldn’t remember the last time Sadie had been this quiet, for this long. It was very unsettling so she said a silent prayer to whatever pulled the strings of the universe that Sadie wasn’t upset with her and lifted her head to speak.

“Oh Sades c’mon, you’ve only said like seven words in the last ten minutes. Please tell me what’s wrong.” 

The witch shot her a half-smile and set down her knife and fork.

“It’s Anastas,” she admitted quietly. 

“What’s he done? I’ll wring his neck.”

“No, no, nothing too terrible. It’s just that…he hasn’t asked me to the bloody dance yet.”

She winced a little at the mention of the Yule Ball. It had completely slipped her mind that students were supposed to bring dates. She thought for a moment about seizing the opportunity to ask Sadie to go together, but the look on her face was too out of character and somber to ignore. 

“That’s a month away,” she said tentatively, not wanting to dismiss her feelings.

“I know, I know,” she hissed, rolling her eyes. “But you know how impatient I get! What if he doesn’t ask me?”

“Sades I’m sure that he will.”

“How do you know?” 

She tried not to smile at the witch’s dramatics. As always, her performance was very entertaining. Tonight was different though. It felt more compelling and she could tell that her friend’s feelings for the Durmstrang boy were real.

“I’ve seen the way he looks at you! He’s completely in love!” 

Sadie tried to maintain her serious demeanor but a sly smile peaked through before she was back to business. “He just needs to hurry up. A lot can happen in a month! What if some girl asks him first and he’s too nice to say no!”

Violet rolled her eyes and couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m certain you would scare her off.”

“But what if he wants her to ask him?” 

“He’s literally always with you! When would he even have time to think about another girl? Let alone speak with one!”

Sadie smiled weakly and glanced over to the Durmstrang table. They didn’t talk about boys much. She had made her feelings about Sadies various awful boyfriends very well known so that was a relatively forbidden topic of conversation. It felt nice to talk about relationships for once without butting heads. 

“I supposed that’s true,” Sadie said dreamily. 

There was no doubt in her mind that Anastas was going to ask her. Sadie was, above all else, passionate. It didn’t matter what it was about but she went in headfirst and never looked back. Surely, even the simple northern boy, would’ve caught on to that by now, and if it wasn’t something he wanted, he would’ve run for the hills. 

She followed Sadies gaze and watched Anastas obliviously eat his lunch, quietly reading a book, and ignoring a peer who she thought she recognized who was talking his ear off. He was harmless enough and truthfully, shy and calm was the perfect combination for Sadies loud and brash. 

Violet returned her gaze to their table. “Maybe he’s just nervous? You’re quite intense if you haven’t noticed, and way out of his league, so cut him some slack.” 

“You’ve got a point,” she said, winking suggestively. “But you might change your tune about his league when you hear about his other.…talents.” 

Violet caught her drift immediately and scrunched her face in disgust. “Not at the table, please.” 

Sadie threw her head back and laughed wickedly. The shrill sound caused a few heads from the Gryffindor table to turn towards them in concern but she kept her eyes on her villainous roommate, for fear of seeing any red hair. 

“Fine, fine. Just making sure you know that I’m not punching down,” she giggled. “Do let me say though, I hope you find someone equally well endowed. It’d do you some good to be loosened up a bit.”

She glared, unamused by the foul wordplay. Hopefully, George was not watching her from across the aisle, because surely her face was brighter than his hair.

“Are you done?” She asked coldly, ignoring the pang of guilt at not being able to share the information about her first sexual experience with her best friend. 

“Not in the slightest!” She exclaimed, reaching for a second helping of potatoes. “What we really need to discuss is who you are going to the ball with!”

She couldn’t even read an article about Valentine’s Day without feeling like her heart was free-falling through her chest, so how would she be able to manage an evening of dates and dancing? She could lie about having a date already but Sadie was like a bloodhound with information so she’d never get away with it. 

“It’s a month away. I have time,” she reminded her hesitantly. Technically true but definitely not enough to keep Sadies matchmaking efforts at bay.

“Yes, but anyone tolerable will be matched up before next week so we need to hurry.” 

“I hardly find anyone tolerable,” she retorted. Also, true.

Sadie rolled her eyes. “It only has to be someone you can tolerate for one night, and that’s easy enough, even for someone like you!”

“Someone like me,” she scoffed.

“Yes, someone like you, who is hell-bent on never giving anyone the chance to get close to you. There are a lot of boys at this school— in our house even, who would be happy to date you for one night Vi, probably even longer if you would let them!” 

She knew her friend was only trying to help but the incredible accuracy of her words stung more than she knew. 

“But I don’t want any of them,” she said quietly. 

True.

Sadie leaned in closer and furrowed her brows. “Then who do you want?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she blurted.

Sweat pooled in her palms instantly. She hadn’t meant to admit that out loud, especially not to Sadie. She looked up and panicked as the fiery look had returned to her friend’s eye, signally that she’d definitely caught the scent of the secret, and had no intention of letting it go. 

“Violet…is there someone?”

“Oh, I hadn’t meant that there was someone that I did —”

“Liar,” Sadie cut in, squinting her eyes in suspicion. “You’re a liar, Violet Wilkes.”

“Sadie, I misspoke.” 

“I don’t believe you.” 

Sadie hadn’t ever looked more suspicious or intrigued in her life. Violet knew her friend well and unfortunately, she was an unstoppable force of nature. She thought about standing up and just sprinting away, or maybe obligating her. It might just be easier to tell her, especially now that she and George were over. Maybe Sadie could bully Malfoy and the rest of the Slytherins into some tolerance about her affinity for the Weasleys, but she doubted it. For that to happen, Sadie would have to find tolerance of her own and that seemed equally unlikely. 

“There is someone,” she whispered. 

Sadies eyes went wide and she leaned so far across the table that her hair dipped into the gravy, not that she noticed. 

“Violet! You’re joking,” she said breathlessly. “Who is it?”

She forfeited her self-control and let her eyes wander over to the Gryffindor table, only searching for a moment before getting stuck in toffee. George was already looking at her as if he had been reading her mind. She felt her cheeks flush as he shot her a weak smile before returning to whatever Fred was saying across from him. It didn’t deter her from staring though. He was too beautiful to turn away from. Far more beautiful than anyone she’d ever seen, even if it had taken her a while to realize it. Like the pinnacle of a firework, or the punchline of a joke; unexpected, bright, and always leaving the beholder breathless.

“It’s a boy,” she said. “In one of my classes.” 

She’d become certain that firelight suited him best and underneath the flickering of thousands of candles above, he glowed. She glanced back at Sadies shocked face and broke the trance. Reality crashed down onto her. She was halfway through an impossible confession with no way out. Frantically, she searched her brain for a name, any name to fill the void that Sadie was so interested in.

It was for the best, she told herself, glancing back to the Gryffindor table a final time. 

“A Durmstrang boy” she continued, praying that George could not read her mind. “I…that I sit next to in Defense Against the Dark Arts…um don’t know his name.”

Sadies mouth dropped open in shock, before letting an excited squeal loose on the peers sitting near them. 

“Why wouldn’t you tell me,” she questioned excitedly. “This is incredible, I cannot believe it! Point him out, I bet you anything that he’s friends with Anastas! Oh Violet, the double dates!”

She reluctantly turned towards the Durmstrang table once more and scanned the crowd, hoping that she was right that the boy sitting next to Anastas was the same one she sat next to in class. 

“Is he there?” Sadie asked impatiently, anxious to put her matchmaking skills to the test. 

Her eyes made it back to the particularly large boy with a shaved head and scarred eyebrow. She stared at him for a moment, praying that he was somewhat decent because they’d never actually spoken before.

“Yes, the one at the end,” she whispered, nodding in his direction. “Just there, next to Anastas.”

Sadie gasped a little. “Well done Vi!”

“Do you know him,” she asked weakly. 

“I’ve never spoken to him but I know that his name is Vasily. I think he’s a year above us and wicked at Quidditch. He’s on the Bulgarian team with Krum!”

“Vasily,” she repeated. It was flashier than she would have preferred but she appreciated that they’d be an alliteration when their names were said together. That was about where her fondness ended. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll have the entire scoop on him by tomorrow.”

She turned back to her friend and mustered a convincing smile. “Wicked.” 

Sadie was off the races with ideas about coordinating dresses, dates to Hogsmeade, and how to get the popular boy to like her. She listened, nodding intently and thanking Salazar Slytherins ghost that she’d fallen for the lie. However, it was a little concerning how quickly Sadie believed that she liked a brutish, professional Quidditch player whose name she hadn’t even bothered to learn. 


	22. Peppermint Flowers

She woke up before her alarm on Wednesday morning, more nervous than ever to go to potions. The prospect of seeing George again after he’d briefly acknowledged her at dinner somehow made today even more daunting. She sat on her bed, stroking the petals of the peppermint flower for nearly an hour before she needed to get ready. 

Her sharp footsteps against the stone floor felt like a ticking clock as she walked, slowly counting down the seconds until George crushed her peace offering and any hopes of remaining friendly. 

She sat at their desk, staring at the empty wooden surface, debating on whether or not to go through with her plan. Her pride aside, it could break away some of the tension between them, which was desperately needed. The offer of goodwill might even be enough for him to speak to her again. On the other hand, she could not interfere and let him decide how to proceed. Truthfully, that might be the more considerate thing, seeing as it was her fault. 

George’s voice, along with Lee’s, drifted in from the hallway, breaking her away from the train of thought. Before logic could get in the way, she swallowed her pride, reached into her bag, and dropped the small white flower onto his side of the desk. 

The seconds it took him to enter the classroom and walk over, felt like an eternity. She set her textbook out in front of her and stared at the next lecture topic, unable to look up at him. The wooden chair scraped against the floor before he sat down and made her jump. 

She closed her eyes and waited, counting her breaths to distract from the ache in her chest. 

She only got to five before feeling a nudge against her elbow. 

George stared at her with a soft look on his face and the flower between his fingers. He tilted his head inquisitively, asking if it was from her. 

She nodded and forced a slight smile, hoping, inexplicably, that all would be forgiven and he’d go back to normal. 

But she had no such luck. 

He returned her smile, set the flower back on the table between them, and turned to the front, where Snape was emerging from his office with a stern look on his face. 

“Next week, we will begin brewing Elixir to induce Happiness. Do not miss class,” he paused and looked around the room for missing faces. “Open your books to page 236.”

She stared at the page, unmoving for the entirety of class. The white flower next to George’s hand taunted her. Was he going to give it back, because he didn’t want it? Was he waiting until class was over to destroy it in front of her as she had done to him? Worst of all, what if he just left it, and didn’t say a word, not deciding, either way, leaving her in a grey area. Indifference would be a fate worse than hatred, she decided. 

Class flew by and she couldn’t register a single thing that Snape said the entire time. When he finally closed his book and flitted from the room, she remained still and silent. Only when a few seconds went by and George hadn’t moved yet, did she look over to him with a hopeful smile.

He was staring at her. They locked eyes and she nearly fainted. 

He looked like himself. 

She couldn’t really gauge the emotion behind his eyes from across the Great Hall last night but now, looking at him close up, he looked significantly less angry. 

“Thanks,” he whispered, picking up the flower. He stared at her intently, unsmiling, and reached up to tuck the delicate white bud behind his ear. 

He looked ridiculous. 

Beautiful, serious, and ridiculous. 

She burst out laughing, making George jump slightly as her voice cracked through the room. He stared at her with a crooked smile and wide eyes. She knew her level of laughter was inappropriate, clearly too much for the situation but it was such a relief to have him speak to her again. His inquisitive look made her laugh even harder and soon, he was giggling along with her until they sat alone in the room, gasping for air and holding onto the desk for support. 

He stood up first, after catching his breath, and motioned silently for her to follow. She swallowed her remaining laughter and did so, obediently, thankful that he wasn’t running away. 

They walked side by side silently, unsure of what to say next, and wandered out of the dungeon and into the main hall. 

She stood for a moment, hoping to prologue their inevitable separation, desperate to tell him a million things.

“Goodbye,” was all she could squeak out as their peers rushed around them in the busy corridor. 

He smiled thoughtfully and hung his head. “See you later, Violet.”

She turned and scurried away, hoping that he couldn’t tell how nervous and undone she felt in his presence, especially when he said her name. She hadn’t heard it from his lips in a week. If things could ever be different, in a few years maybe, she’d ask him to say it over and over again until he grew sick of it. Even if they could only be friends, she’d ask him what color fields of violets and bluish-purple sunsets were, over and over again. 

The smile on her face couldn’t be contained as she ascended the Defense Against the Dark Arts tower. But as she crossed the threshold into the classroom, her happiness died on her lips. Vasily glanced up from their conjoined desk and nodded at her before continuing to sit lazily and staring off into space.

She had completely forgotten that he existed until last night.

She cursed herself for confessing undying love for a man she’d never spoken to. His eyes didn’t linger on her long after she sat down. She couldn’t tell whether or not Anastas or Sadie had told him about what she had said. Surely if they had, he would’ve said something by now. Moody began the lecture not a moment later by screaming about something dangerous, and she’d never been happier to have such a forceful distraction. 

She practically sprinted out of class, afraid to find out whether or not Vasily too, believed that she had a crush on him and made it through lunch, dinner, and to the library without incident. 

She made sure to fall asleep before Sadie got back to their room that night so they didn’t have to speak about her fake romance. 

In her dreams, she saw George with white flowers in his hair. 

________________

Mandy nearly tackled her when she sat down in charms the next morning. 

“Violet, weren’t the dragons amazing?” She asked, gripping her arm. “I could hardly believe it!”

“Yes,” she responded. “Glad I didn’t have to fight them though.”

Mandy giggled. “I can’t imagine what they’ll come up with for the second task! It’s torture to have to wait until after Christmas to found out what it is.”

“Sure, but you’ve got the Yule Ball to pass the time,” she reminded her knowingly.

Her tablemate broke out into a huge smile and leaned in close. “Have you been asked yet?”

She shook her head but didn’t speak. She could tell that the question was just a courtesy and that Mandy was sitting on a tidbit of gossip that she wanted to share. 

“I heard the Fleur has already been asked by nearly twenty guys,” she whispered, eyes twinkling. “And that Cedric is going with Cho Chang,”

“Oh they’d be a lovely couple, don’t you think?”

Mandy nodded furiously. 

“Do you know who has asked Fleur,” she questioned further, not minding giving into the witch’s pension for gossip. 

“Half the seventh years from every house, and even more Durmstrang's,” she whispered. 

“I wonder who she’ll choose,” Violet pondered, ignoring the cartwheels her stomach was doing as George and Fred sauntered into the room, laughing loudly. Even though she suspected that were on better terms, she avoided eye contact and focused on the conversation at hand. 

“If it were me,” Mandy mused, staring off into space. “I’d definitely say yes to a Durmstrang.”

“Why am I not surprised?” She teased. 

Mandy blushed and rolled her eyes. “Well go on then, who would you say yes to for a date?”

She felt short of breath at the question, because surely the twins, who were now seated and silent, had heard. She stammered for a moment, unsure of how to answer. 

“Wilkes, she’s asked you a question,” Fred teased from behind them. “And we’re all dying to get an answer.” 

If only he knew the real answer, she thought, avoiding George’s eyes. 

“It’s me, isn’t it,” Fred continued, nudging his brother. 

She turned around to stare at him, head-on. “Don’t make me hurt your feelings.”

George stifled a laugh with his hand and stared at his brother, who looked more than pleased to be challenged. 

“No need to hide your true affections. Only problem is, is that I’ve already got a date,” he winked and she tried not to notice how George’s mouth twitched at the insinuation. “But I’d more than happy with a threesome.”

She shook her head and watched Mandy go beat red. 

“I’d rather slit my own throat, thanks. Who’d you Imperio to go with you?” 

“I’ve got girls more than willing, darling,” he concluded with a wink and a smug smile.

She rolled her eyes and turned to their Professor who was beginning his lesson at the podium. It was pretty common knowledge that Fred had a thing for Angelina Johnson and Sadie had already told her that he’d asked her. All she knew was that the girl was on the Gryffindor quidditch team, and quite tall. She probably had quite a bit of patience as well. Dating Fred would be a full-time job. Similar to a daycare center, preschool, or insane asylum.

Despite being one of the smartest in their year, it wasn’t until after dinner that evening that it dawned on her, that if Fred already had a date, then perhaps George had one too. 

The hole in her chest got deeper. Even if he didn’t have one now, he probably would in time for the ball. And it wouldn’t be her. The thought halted her nightly shower routine and she stood underneath scalding hot water trying to burn the image out of her head. 

The green emerald tiles reflected her face to her. She looked terrible. Little sleep, constant worrying, and an endless stream of homework did not do her any favors. Her rather plump cheeks looked more gaunt than usual and creases underneath her eyes had made a permanent home. She closed her eyes and pressed her forehead to the cool tile. The mingling of sensations sharpened her mind. 

She should’ve danced with him when she had the chance. There were so many things she still wanted to do with him… to him. She’d shared so many firsts with him and it seemed pointless to finish the rest of the list with someone else. 

First kiss. 

First touch. 

First time. 

Even if they didn’t go all the way, he was the only person who’d ever really touched her. Despite the scalding water, a shudder ran down her spine, reminding her of the sensations he was able to pull from her with just a single finger. Imagine what he could do with two, or three. Or with his tongue. 

She opened her eyes and watched her pupils swallow nearly the entirety of her iris. 

Stop it. 

She shut off the water and cast a cooling charm on her skin as soon as she got back to her room before fantasies of a George that still wanted to touch her overwhelmed her mind. 

________

Normally, Friday nights were a rather rambunctious affair in the caste. More so now that there were foreign friends to entertain. Each house had its own weekend rituals, and preferences but regardless of what they were drinking and smoking, students ran amuck. Violet didn’t normally engage in such activities, not because she thought that they were bad or anything but rather because she preferred to do them with less of an audience. Only when Sadie forced her into the common room for parties, did she attend, and that was on rare occasions. Despite her constant complaining, and begging, her friend did in fact, respect her wishes to remain alone in the library most evenings. 

Tonight, however, Sadie begrudgingly trailed behind her as they both walked up to the “book jail” as Sadie called it. 

“I’m screwed,” Sadie whined, wallowing in self-pity. “There’s like a month left in the term!”

“It’ll be fine Sades. All you have to do is practice your wand work. It’ll take two hours, tops,” she assured her spiraling friend about her abysmal Transfiguration grade. McGonagall herself had insisted that Sadie spend the weekend practicing and when Snape had caught wind of her failing grade, he’d made it non-negotiable.

“I’m so, so, so screwed,” she repeated as they walked through the high shelves of the nearly empty library. “Don’t you have a brain-sharpening potion or something I can take before the final? Honestly, Vi, I’m hopeless.”

Violet giggled at her friend’s dramatics before trying to convince her to bring the smallest bit of optimism to their study session. It was no surprise that this was the class that her flamboyant, scatterbrained friend suffered the most in. Much like potions, it was more scientific than the rest of the courses at Hogwarts. Transfiguration spells needed to be perfect to get the desired outcome. 

She tutored her until the sun fully set, and with a few promises, and a lot of encouragement, she was able to at least improve her technique, and perform a pawn to queen spell on a chess piece. Satisfied with her improvement, Sadie insisted that turn in early because she had a date with Anastas the next morning. 

They linked arms and waved goodbye to Madam Pince before turning into the hallway near the entrance of the moving stairs. She listened to Sadies ideas about her Yule Ball dress and slowly scanned the crowded hall around them. Most students were heading back from a late dinner or sneaking off to various common rooms for the evening. The chattering vibrated the walls, accumulating in a low hum that, despite the sea of bodies, was relatively comforting. 

The comfort didn’t last however as she heard a collection of high-pitched laughs over the horde. Sadie shot her an annoyed look and they craned their necks, looking for the source. 

Her heart sank as George and Fred turned the corner, walking towards them, chatting happily with who she could only assume was Angelina Johnson and three other Gryffindor girls who she didn’t recognize. Alarm bells went off in her mind and she instinctively furrowed her brow and slowed to approach the boy casually chatting with his friends but stopped as reality hit her smack in the face.

It hurt more than any punching telescope ever could. He could speak with whoever he likes. He could make any girl he wanted to laugh. 

She held no claim to him whatsoever. And even if she did go over to talk to him, there was no guarantee that he’d respond.

That sentiment didn’t make the sight sting any less. They’d probably known him for longer and been much nicer to him than she had. So if he preferred their company, it was what she deserved. 

“How embarrassing,” Sadie scoffed loud enough for anyone around them to hear. “Hanging onto their every word like that. It’s pathetic. I really doubt that they’re that funny.”

She sped up slightly, in the hopes of passing them without incident and smiled. Sadie’s comments were meant to be mean but they cheered her up more than she could ever know. She looked away from the gaggle of red and gold, not wanting to submit herself to anything that would hurt her feelings. 

She knew she shouldn’t let it but the thought of George escaping back to his dorm room with the Gryffindor girls soured her mood the entire weekend. 

Instead of being stuck in the castle, closer to George, she decided it was high time that she retrieve the walkman and headphones out from her trunk and sneak off to where muggle artifacts worked. Blaring music would be enough to relieve her of the tension between her ears, and if not, the walk alone would exhaust her enough for a good night’s sleep.

The clouds hung low as she crossed the lawn on Saturday afternoon. Frozen air, smelling of dust and chill signaled that they might finally get snow. Not that she was complaining. It meant fewer walks around the lake but at least it was a change of scenery; a new distraction. 

The path was rather empty except for a few people studying on the benches near the main beach. She spied a familiar face through the fog and waved to Hermione and crew from a distance, receiving a curt silent smile in return before she moved out of eyesight. 

Beyond the main beach, trees lined the path that curved around the lake and back towards the train station. Before she was able to escape into the thicket of the forest, a group of red and gold ties speaking loudly and walking off towards Hogsmeade made her jump. She studied the group for a moment before turning her head towards the lake, to be sure no one from the group recognized her. 

She walked for about ten more minutes before spotting the small beach no more than a few feet deep, surrounded by large trees. It was almost entirely hidden from view unless you knew how to spot the lake through the tree-line. The coverage from her headphones was a nice break from the chilly air against her ears as she sunk into the sand and leaned against a tree trunk. She pressed play on the walkman and after a little static, the beginning notes of ‘Running Up That Hill’ by Kate Bush flooded her ears. It was a rather somber day and so she’d gone for the slowest cassette tape that she owned to wallow in her sadness with. 

Her mind took her to its usual pitiful places of missing her family and missing George but luckily, it didn’t last long, as the cold breeze from the lake made it impossible to focus on anything other than the blaring music keeping her ears warm.

She wallowed for about two hours, listening to the album twice through and successfully avoiding any tears before dusting the sand off of her pants and heading back to the castle for dinner. 

She used all her remaining energy tutoring Sadie the whole weekend so when their alarm rang on Monday morning, she felt as tense as she had on Friday night. 

George was already at their table when she sat down so she had no time to panic about how to begin a normal conversation with him in their new roles as friends. His demeanor was relaxed, even as she brushed past him, and she would’ve given anything for Snape’s occlumens abilities. She thought about asking him about the Yule Ball but that would most definitely end up being more awkward than anything so she settled for something non-confrontational. 

“How was yo —“

“What do yo —“

“Oh sorry, you go ahead,” she said, whipping her head up to look at George who was smiling at her softly, amused by their simultaneous sentences. 

“No, you go.” 

She eyed him for a moment and then repeated her question. “How was your weekend?”

“Lovely. You?”

“Lovely,” she replied absentmindedly, too busy worrying about what he was going to say next.

His smile widened at her mimicked response. “Can I ask mine now?”

She nodded and waited for him to continue anxiously. 

What do you….what? What do you…think you’re doing speaking to me? What do you…need to do to get it through your thick skull that we aren’t friends and never will be? The hypotheticals ran rampant in her head until he spoke again. 

“What do you do down by the lake?”

She furrowed her brows and leaned closer to make sure she’d heard him right. 

“What?”

“The lake,” he clarified. “I saw you there, on Saturday, walking down the trail with something in your hand. I was just curious about what you were doing.”

“Oh!” She exclaimed excitedly, almost completely forgetting the award air between them. “That was my walkman!”

“You offer walking services?” He joked, shooting her a wink. 

“Shove off,” she rolled her eyes and hoped her cheeks weren’t too red. “It’s for muggle music, you know, cassette tapes?” 

“You walk all the way out there just to listen to muggle music?”

“It’s the only place I can go. There’s a little beach at the end of the trail, behind the train station, where the wards are weak and muggle technology works,” she said. “I found it a few years ago.”

Snape brushed into the room, instructing them on how to submit their Elixir for Happiness when it was finished by the end of class. She wrote the ingredients down and handed it to George, who was rolling his eyes at the use of memory instead of the book. 

He furrowed his brow upon returning to the table and settled in to watch her brew. “What kind of muggle music?”

“Mostly The Clash, Duran Duran and Queen,” she explained as the shrivel fig and porcupine quills went into the cauldron. “But I also really like Kate Bush.”

“Never heard of ‘em,” he admitted, not that she had expected him to. Despite his lack of knowledge, it was sweet of him to ask even though he had no idea what she was talking about. 

She stirred the concoction and nodded. “Figures.”

He went quiet for a moment and she watched him mull her words over in his head. 

“So do you do homework or something while you’re out there,” he asked.

“No,” she mused, watching the cauldron boil. “I just sit and look out at the lake.” 

“Merlin,” he exclaimed. “For how long?”

“Usually only a couple of hours but I could spend whole days out there.”

He nodded and stared at the table like she was speaking an alien language. Something told her that the thought of sitting quietly was bizarre to him. 

“It’s peaceful,” she added, before dropping in the final ingredients of sopophorous beans and wormwood meticulously. George leaned over silently and watched as each ingredient turned the potion from purple to brown, to pink, to orange where it would stay until it had simmered long enough. 

“Sounds a bit depressing. You sure you don’t sit and think about drowning yourself? You can tell me if you do, it’ll be our little secret.”

She nearly choked on her laughter and had to hide her face behind the cauldron to avoid Snape’s glare. George looked more than pleased at her laugher and leaned closer.

“How’s the polyjuice potion?” She asked, hoping to keep the conversation going. 

“Looks like sludge,” he remarked, still smiling triumphantly from making her laugh. “But I’ve been following your instructions and stirring it.” 

“Good,” she finally got the courage to meet his eyes. “Only two weeks until it’s done.” 

He nodded and fell back into their comfortable silence for the remainder of the potions cook time. She watched the solution fade from deep orange, and into the bright yellow that signaled her success. Unlike last week, the tension between them couldn’t be cut with a knife, but it was still palatable. She ignored the urge to fill the void with random babbling and bottled the elixir and set it on their desk, waiting for the rest of the class to be dismissed.

George shifted in his chair to cross his leg away from her, propping his notebook on his knee to furiously scribble. Probably something about the business, she thought. Despite the brief mention of the polyjuice potion, she didn’t know where they stood business-wise. Their work together had spurred out of a rather intense disdain for one another, and now, with everything out on the table, could they still work together? She thought that they could, but the George who sat next to her now was almost completely unreadable. 

She cleared her throat and the boy looked up at her. 

“Um…and in two weeks, I’ll come and finish the potion,” she inquired tentatively. “Right?”

He furrowed his brow and cocked his head to the side. “Yeah, who else would do it?”

“I just…wanted to make sure we are still working together,” she said. “After everything.”

He looked down and uncrossed his leg. 

“Well yeah.…if you still want to.”

“Yes! Of course, I still want to,” she responded a little too excitedly. “As long as you’re okay keeping me on….I mean it’s up to you and Fred….I don’t want to hold you back.”

“Nah,” he said, looking up at Lee walking over to collect him for their walk to their next class. “We’d be lost without you.”

And with that, he put his notebook back into his bag, shot her a somber smile, and walked away. 

Her heart rate didn’t return to normal until after Herbology the next day. 

George’s words felt like a fever dream. Every time he whispered things like that to her, she had trouble remembering her own name, let alone going about school like normal. A mixture of guilt and sadness clouded her mind. She couldn’t tell if he was speaking with her again because she’d pushed too hard, too fast or because they were actually on the road to recovery. It was selfish, to want to be his friend so soon after, but the alternative was too much to bear. Maybe this way, she could at least hold onto him a little. Maybe this way, he’d at least have to consider her existence before pursuing someone else. It was manipulative, she knew, but honestly, she didn’t really care. 

After classes were finished for the day on Tuesday, she joined Sadie on a quick jaunt around the lake after dinner. 

The days were shorter now and they only made it halfway through before needing a _lumos_ charm. 

Sadie clung to her arm, making the most of the rather spooky scenario as they finished the walk by passing the Durmstrang ship. 

“Did I tell you about the party on Friday?”

Violet closed her eyes briefly and hoped that it would be something she could escape. 

“No, I don’t think you did.”

“Oh,” her shivering friend commented absentmindedly. “Well, there’s a party on Friday.”

They giggled and Violet gave her a little shove.

“Whose party?”

“Durmstrang is having it on their ship. I’m invited, of course, but more importantly, so are you!”

She winced. 

“Oh Sades, I don’t know. I have homework and —“

“Annnnd,” she continued. “I have it under good authority that Vasily will be there as well.”

Violet sucked in a hard breath, letting the frigid air wake up her senses. She kept forgetting that Sadie was under the impression that she’d revealed a secret crush to her just a few days ago. She took a moment to commit his name to memory. Vasily. Vasily. Vasily. 

Vasily. The boy she liked from class. 

She let out the breath and mustered as much excitement as she could. 

“Really? How do you know?”

Sadie flashed her a large smile, seemingly satisfied by the reaction. 

“Anastas made sure of it,” she continued. “Said that he had a friend he wanted to introduce him to.”

The scene of Friday night flashed in her head. Sadie would “introduce” her to Vasily, they would laugh and say they sat next to each other in class, she would hold a conversation with him about how weird Professor Moody was, and then leave. It seemed simple enough but could only play out if Vasily was a nice guy who didn’t try anything. It would be a massive headache but it was necessary to make this whole thing believable. Besides, maybe she could arrange their coupling for the Yule Ball and be free of Sadies pestering until January. 

“That sounds great,” she stammered. “I’m really excited.” 

It was the least believable sentence she’d ever muttered and regretted it as soon as it fell off her tongue. Even in the dim light of her wand, she could see Sadie’s face scrunch a little. 

“Vi, you don’t need to be nervous! It’s just a casual get-together, really,” she assured her. “Besides, I’m sure you have lots to talk about from class and if not, you can just ask him about Quidditch or Bulgaria, or something.”

She nodded along to the rest of Sadie’s ideas about how to successfully trap the table partner she’d never spoken a word to. She thought that maybe it would’ve been easier to keep her mouth shut and let Sadie play matchmaker but all in all, the Durmstrang boy wasn’t an awful choice, especially because of the low probability of anything getting back to George.

And then it occurred to her; Karkaroff would be on that ship too. She paused her panicking mind for a moment and weighed her options. If she went, there was a chance she could prod the most likely intoxicated Durmstrang’s to talk more about their headmaster. If luck was on her side, there might even be a chance to snoop around. If mindless flirting was the price she had to pay to get some answers about the missing book pages, she’d gladly pay it. 


End file.
